Sub Rosa
by sinecure
Summary: After Doomsday, Rose is living in Pete's World, but things aren't as great as the Doctor had hoped for her or her family.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Sub Rosa (1/4)  
**Author:** sinecure  
**Character/Pairing:** Ten/Rose  
**Rating:** Adult (M)  
**Genre:** Angst, drama, hurt/comfort, smut  
**Summary:** After Doomsday, Rose is living in Pete's World, but things aren't as great as the Doctor had hoped for her or her family.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Doctor Who.  
**Author's Notes:** Thanks to JennyLD for the beta. (This was posted most everywhere else a year ago for the TARDIS Big Bang. Somehow, I forgot to post it here.)

It was a simple matter of swirling the tongue just so and squeezing the cock at the base to make a man grunt and groan. They were like animals in that way. Women too, just in a softer voice and... slightly different anatomy.

Rose Tyler knew all the tricks by now; she'd been giving him head for well over a year.

She knew all the ways to make him lose control. To make him thrust forward, or grab her hair and hold her still while he rocked into her hand.

She knew how to make him stop too.

Fingers trailing down his thigh, she pressed her nails into his flesh and lightly, just _very_ lightly scraped her teeth on him. Then she sucked hungrily on the head of his cock, using the heel of her hand to rub his balls.

Like putty in her hand. Every time.

Eyes lifting to his face, watching as he struggled with the urge to just pump his hips and fuck her mouth, she kept him still with a look and a touch, promising more with each suck and swirl of her tongue. His hand fisted in her hair, tightening as he groaned loudly. The long, blonde strands hung down, framing her face, just like he liked it, giving him something to grab onto, to grip in his fervent need.

And he did need her.

Needed her to make him come, just like he always did. Needed just the right look, the right touch, the right noises. The right smells, the right feel.

Everything had to be perfect. And it was. For now.

Popping him free, she sucked in a breath, pushing all thoughts of what came next to the back of her mind. It didn't matter right now and the trepidation only made her slower and clumsier in her movements. It was a distraction she didn't need.

Sliding him back into her mouth, she kept her eyes on him, making little noises in the back of her throat as she bobbed up and down on his length. He liked it when she was vocal. The deeper in her throat she voiced them, the more he tensed up and bucked against her hand.

It wouldn't be long now, the sounds he was making meant he was close, so close. When his fist tightened even more in her hair, pressing her further onto his cock, she began to count down.

Five seconds. He grunted rapidly, each one escalating, growing higher in volume.

Four. His balls drew up tight.

Three now. His skin flushed red, becoming a bit mottled over his chest and face as she moved more quickly on him.

Two. Head thrown back, he grunted out a loud exhale, straining against the fingers on his thighs.

One. Hips bucking wildly, he arched up off the bed.

She wanted to pull back, but resisted. His cock began to spasm, hips thrusting wildly even as she let him slip out a bit so he wouldn't choke her. Then, with one last powerful thrust of his hips, he buried himself deep inside her mouth, jerking uncontrollably, body warm and damp against hers.

Moving faster on him, licking and swirling her tongue around his cock, she tasted the odd flavor of his slowly softening erection. His body tensed in the arched position for a few breathless seconds, then he exhaled loudly, dropping to the bed below, eyes sliding closed, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Now that," he panted, licking his lips with an exhausted smile, "was fantastic." He lazily patted the bed next to him, hand bouncing on the damp sheets just once before flopping uselessly back to the bed.

Pausing with a smile that she knew showed nothing of the discomfort beneath her cool, polished veneer, she settled herself carefully beside him. "Do you want me to--"

"No," he mumbled, "I've got it." He pushed himself up with a sigh, disturbing her, but she was fine with that. Occupying herself with staring at his back for a moment, she held herself still, knowing, dreading what was coming next. What always came next. "I wanna take care of you."

Forcing herself to relax, she drew in a few deep breaths, quickly sliding a smile onto her lips.

He laid back down beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her to him, kissing her forehead, sending a warm shiver down her spine. A moment later, his lips pressed to her chin and she could feel the thinness of them. Closing her eyes, she arched into his touch as he moved to her shoulder. The soft feel of his mouth made her bite back a whimper.

The swell of her breasts was his next destination, tongue flicking out to take in her nipple, sucking it into his mouth. She fisted her fingers in the sweat-dampened sheets, straining closer. Her body was aroused. Not overly so, but every touch from him-- "Mmm," she moaned, deep in her throat, squirming when his hands slid down to her waist, pressing his body against hers.

Her stomach got the attention next, hipbone and belly button, his tongue sliding out to taste her skin, teeth nipping at her flesh.

Spreading her thighs open, he placed a kiss there, no doubt finding her only slightly damp, though it never seemed to register with him. Never seemed to bother him. Or maybe he was just too polite to say anything.

As his tongue and fingers slid into her, she stared up at the ornate ceiling, eyes tracing the patterns there that she'd memorized after her first few weeks. The cream-colored swirls and boxes of shadowed dips and filigrees trailed along gold etched edges. It was gaudy and she hated it.

Hated this room.

Lifting her hips from the bed, she moaned, then sucked in a few breaths, pressing her straining body closer to his mouth and hands. He'd learnt quite well from her. Learnt to hold her thighs down to keep her from thrusting too hard and dislodging his mouth. Learnt to like the sounds she made, to feel for her clenching muscles.

Voice rising higher, she glanced down at his brown hair, shorter than she liked. He'd got it cut recently. But it wasn't like she had a say in it. Concentrating solely on the man before her, she became more vocal, gasping and moaning, panting and grunting, putting on a good show for him. He always bought it.

What he didn't know was that each warm kiss left her feeling cold.

When she came, he bought that too. Just a few clenching muscles, an arched back. Heavy breathing. It didn't take much at all for him to believe she'd just come harder than she ever had before.

Lifting his eyes to hers as she slowly relaxed into the mattress, he smiled, slick mouth curling up at the corners in a proud display of male satisfaction.

She stretched languidly, arms over her head, smiling and moaning in contentment as her body, left unsatisfied, simmered lightly on its way to true arousal. Crawling down the bed toward him, she pressed a quick, pleasant kiss to his lips, smoothing her hand down his thigh to his cock. "Want to try again?"

Blue eyes fixing on hers, his mouth curved up, shaping a warm smile aimed at her. "Not tonight, I'm afraid. Gotta go early."

She planted a disappointed pout on her lips and sat back on her heels, hands in her lap. "Oh."

Grinning ruefully, he climbed from the bed and walked to the chair his trousers were folded over. Slipping them on quickly, he tossed her a look. "Sorry. But I'm sure you don't mind nearly as much as you pretend to." Pulling his shirt on with a wink, he buttoned it swiftly, then slipped his tie on, fingers moving assuredly over the knot. "It's all right." Tightening the tie with a quick tug, he dropped into the chair to slip his socks and shoes on. "I get it. Been doing this for a year, mind."

Rose had learnt early on that she shouldn't agree or disagree with him. Only if he wanted her to. And when he wanted that, wanted a fight, she gave him one, but that was a rare occurrence.

He headed into the bathroom and when she heard the water running, she let herself relax a bit, feeling better without his eyes on her. Watching her.

The toilet flushed a minute later and he appeared from the darkened bathroom.

Suit jacket on, he strode to the bed, cupping her cheek lightly. "I'll see you next week, Di." Leaning down, he pressed a light kiss to her lips, grabbed his briefcase and left the hotel room.

Once she was alone, Rose's sappy smile dropped from her face and she climbed from the bed. Grabbing her mobile from her purse, she speed dialed work. "Remy, Jarod's just left." Shoving the phone between her shoulder and ear, she reached over to the nightstand and slid the foil packet there into the bin with the used condom. "I haven't got another client until Larry tomorrow, have I?" Slipping her rings and bracelets from her hands, she dropped them into a small pouch. "Good. See you on Wednesday."

Snapping her phone shut, she shoved it back into her purse and gathered up all of her clothes, which were spread haphazardly throughout the room. Jarod really liked stripping her. A stocking here, a belt there. She folded them all up neatly, slipping them into her bag, and then slid the chain into place on the door before heading into the bathroom for a long, hot shower.

* * *

*~*~*~*~*

* * *

The TARDIS landed roughly, going still after a moment, but the Doctor stayed where he was, hands braced on the edge of the jump seat behind him, bum hanging midair. He felt a bit like a Jack-in-the-box pressed back into his toy home, finally coming to rest after too much play. Eyes darting around, he pushed himself up, standing unsteadily on wobbly legs.

He glanced around, taking in the smoke pouring out of the console, which was immediately sucked up by the atmospheric scrubbers. The small sparks that shot out from the auxiliary power banks. They were doused with an oxygen starving foam he'd installed a few weeks back.

Well, that had been a fun ride.

It took him a bit longer than usual to recover from the trip, but as soon as he did, he shook off the confusion and dashed toward the console. No fires, at least. None he could see anyway. No warning lights, no alarms, no cloister bells.

No holes in the fabric of the universe. Universes. Not even a tiny leak of void stuff into normal space.

All things told, not a bad trip. Not a bad trip at all.

Dashing about quickly, he took various readings and checked equipment. No failures; marvelous day!

With each new reading, each new sign that everything was indeed all right, his excitement grew, until he was running around the console, grinning like a fool, snapping switches, twisting dials and-- stopping in front of the red button by the monitor, he let his hand hover over it for a moment before slamming his hand down.

The TARDIS went silent, the lights cutting off until he was standing in complete darkness.

Still grinning like a fool.

It'd taken... a lot of years, but he'd done it; he'd finally got back to Rose.

Now he just had to find her, and there was no time like the present... oh. Smacking the red button again with a sheepish look at the monitor, he stroked the console. "Sorry. You can rest in a bit, old girl, but I need to find Rose first."

Checking the date--3 years her time--he connected quickly to the network, typing in Rose's name, thinking she'd probably be in her own flat by now.

But her name came up with nothing.

Well, then, she must be staying with Pete and Jackie. Big enough place they had, after all. Plenty of room.

Although, there was a little disappointment in him that she hadn't struck out on her own. He'd keep that to himself when he saw her though. Wouldn't want to start off on the wrong foot.

Seeing that Pete's house was still in the same place, he darted around the console again, petting bits of her here and there, soothing her after the tiring trip. She hadn't lost power--he'd been safer about coming through the void this time--but she was still exhausted.

He made the trip quickly and without preamble, excitement building in him with every setting. Once they'd landed, hearts pounding like dueling drummers, he took a deep breath and opened the door, peering into the foyer. Just feet from where he'd laughed at Rose being a dog in this universe.

Not his finest moment, no. But that was all in the past.

New memories and opportunities were stretching out before him. Them. Soon, as soon as he found her again and they were back in their proper universe--with Pete, Jackie, the baby, and whoever else wanted to tag along--they'd make new memories. Well, without Jackie and Pete and the baby. They'd stay on Earth.

He and Rose would travel together.

Slipping out of the TARDIS, he pulled the door shut behind him, stuck his hands in his pockets and started down the hallway, leaning through doorways and peeking into rooms as he went. Sniffing an older bouquet of flowers on an antique hutch, he wrinkled his nose at the faded, dead petals. Apparently Lucy wasn't doing her job.

Picking up a book by the vase, he frowned at the layer of dust coating it.

Eyes darting to the floor, he noted the smudges and marks upon it, the traces of muddy footprints heading toward the stairs. Panic settled in his hearts, forcing their beats to triple in time. "Rose," he whispered, then shouted as he ran through the first door he came to. "Rose!"

What if she were hurt?

The room was dark and cold, the small fire in the fireplace doing nothing to keep the winter chill from slipping in. The grey cloudy day was shut out by heavy drapes covering each window, the orange and yellow glow of the fire flickering on the dark canvases the only light in the room.

She could be dead.

There was a scrape of a boot on the marble floor and the Doctor spun around to see Pete, unshaven, standing in the doorway, a mess of papers in his hands. The thin line of his lips looked anything but friendly. He barely even glanced at the Doctor before drawing in a tired breath and walking past him. "Thought I heard your ship." Standing at a large wooden desk, he flipped the lamp on and began sorting through the papers in the dim light.

Pete's manner didn't reassure him any. It actually made the panic worse. "Where's Rose?"

Was he too late?

Sending the Doctor an expressionless look, Pete straightened a handful of papers with a shrug. "Couldn't tell you. She left."

Left? What did that mean? He hadn't found a flat or a house with her name attached to it. Hadn't found-- eyes widening on Pete, he realized that it wasn't just her home he hadn't been able to find. It was any and all traces of her. Clenching his fingers into fists, teeth grinding together until his jaw began to ache, he strode over to Pete. "Where is she?" he bit out.

Pete rubbed his forehead, eyes not quite meeting the Doctor's. "I don't know, Doctor. I really don't."

"And Jackie?" the Doctor insisted, knowing Jackie wouldn't just leave Rose to her own devices. She'd demand to know where her daughter was going, demand to know when she'd be back, who she was with... and though she may not have got the answers, she'd still have asked. Over and over again if needed. Glancing around the darkened room, the empty, disheveled house, he got a bad feeling. "Where's Jackie?" he asked, stepping closer, observing Pete with a critical eye.

He was just as disheveled as the house.

Pete's mouth thinned even more, eyes darting angrily to the Doctor's before turning fully toward him. "She's dead."

Dead. Jackie. He had a hard time reconciling the words and the idea behind them. Jackie Tyler could not be dead. It was just not possible. She was so full of life... so alive.

"Her and the baby," Pete continued, tossing the papers to the desk with a careless flick of his hand. "So, I'd like to thank you for giving her back to me, Doctor. Best year of my life." The bitterness and seething in his words chilled the Doctor to the bone, but not nearly as much as his still unanswered question.

"Where is Rose?" he bit out.

Pete shrugged again, not a care in the world as he turned back to his desk. "Told you I don't know and I meant it." Rubbing his forehead tiredly, letting a little of his old self show through, he admitted, "We had a row. Well, a few of them actually. Both said some things we didn't m-- probably shouldn't have said. Haven't seen her since."

"And Mickey," the Doctor growled, feeling anger well up in him, burning at his chest. He fisted his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual, but seething inside. Desperation was beginning to take root in him. He hadn't come all this way, after all this time, to lose her. "Where's he?"

Surely Mickey would know where Rose was. Was probably with her even. Jealousy crowded its way into his worry and concern, but he pushed it away impatiently. He didn't really care where he found her, or with whom, so long as she was safe.

"Mickey's in Paris, heading up a Torchwood team there."

Pacing away, the Doctor pulled at his hair, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "Work then," he suggested, grasping at any straws he could. He thought he heard Pete snort, but wasn't sure. Didn't understand it if he had.

"She quit Torchwood nearly 2 years ago."

Sinking feeling in his chest, the Doctor turned back to Pete. "How long has it been since you last saw her?" Swallowing past a dry throat, he pushed the words through stiff lips. "Since anyone's seen her?" he demanded.

"Almost two years," Pete said simply.

"Two years," he repeated, stunned at how uncaring Pete was being. "Two years. And, in all that time, did it never occur to you to, I don't know, check on her to make sure she was all right?" It was actually hurting his brain at the incompetence of her supposed father.

"She left, Doctor. Not a lot I could do to stop her--"

"Not a lot you _tried_ to do to stop her it sounds like! She lost her mum, the woman who raised her single-handedly. Her sister or brother, and you, what? Did you kick her out of the house?"

Pete looked ashamed for a total of eight seconds before his face hardened, mouth thinning even more. "Brother," he said slowly, clearly. Teeth clenched, he bit out, "I lost... my _son_!" Slamming his hand down on the desk, he yelled, "Not to mention my wife. I hardly had the time to deal with Rose and her... petty claims about her coworkers!"

The Doctor stared at him, remembering another man, in another universe, who'd given up his life for the sake of the world.

"You're nothing like her father," he seethed, and then with one last, hard look at the man he'd given everything, he turned and left the room.

* * *

*~*~*~*~*

* * *

Shoving her sunglasses higher onto the bridge of her nose, Rose dropped into the chair across from her boss and slumped back with a yawn. "Well, this brings back memories," she told her, glancing around the outdoor café. Sunlight glinted off the white and glass tables, blinding her. Blinking to clear her vision, she tapped her nails on the tabletop, watching Melissa type unhurriedly on her laptop.

After a few moments, Melissa glanced at her in silence, brushing her long, dark hair over her shoulder, then went back to typing, perfect pink lips curving into a smile. "Rose."

"Don't call me that," Rose replied automatically, straightening as a waiter approached their table. He stopped with a smile, setting down a glass of water for her, his well-muscled body blocking out the sun, sending her into the gloom of shadows. She shivered in the chill morning air and gestured to Melissa's cup of tea. "Same, please."

"Anything else?" He paused, pencil poised over his pad, waiting. Smiling. He was cute, and she could tell he was interested; his eyes fell to her lips twice, her chest four times.

But she wasn't. Not... well, not anymore. When sex was a job, it sort of took the fun out of-- okay, she'd only had the single, one-night stand just after coming to this universe, so she wasn't the best judge of whether they were fun or not. But that's all this would be, all it ever could be, because she wasn't in the market for anything more, and she just didn't want that.

Pulling her sunglasses off, she tossed them to the table. "Just tea, thanks."

He nodded politely, tapped his pencil against the pad of paper, and dropped his gaze to her cleavage one more time before leaving.

When he was gone, she took a sip of water and went back to watching Melissa type. "New client?"

"He wants you." Melissa's glance was quick, but meaningful. It told her the same thing it always did; go out, have a social life, don't tie yourself to the job.

Rose wasn't in the mood to have this argument again. Not this week. "New client?" she repeated, wanting to end brunch as quickly as she could and go home to sleep. She'd been up for more hours than she cared to think about, had faked too many orgasms to count. Her body was exhausted, ready to drop at the slightest chance.

Melissa smiled at her, chuckling a little at her insistence. "Just brunch." Closing the screen on her laptop, she sat back and gave Rose a cursory inspection as she sipped at her tea. "You look tired, Di."

Rubbing her temples, Rose chuckled and heaved a sigh. "Had Darren last night."

"Ah." They shared a look, and Rose fought the urge to grin at the amusement dancing in Melissa's bright green eyes.

"Jungle lovin'," she sing-songed, snickering when Melissa's lips quirked up. "He asked about you, you know. Anytime you wanna go back into the field..." she removed her arms from the table as the waiter returned with her tea, "you'll have plenty of clients."

"Here you go, ma'am." Setting the rattling cup and saucer down in front of Rose, the waiter smiled wide, then stood there for a few seconds, watching her. She raised her eyebrows at him and he finally left, though she had the feeling he still hadn't got the hint that she wasn't interested.

Melissa watched him walk away, then set her cup on the table and opened her laptop again. "He could be good for you. Help you get your mind off of things."

That wasn't ever going to happen, Rose thought, watching the waiter walk away. She saw a male body, nicely shaped, made for one thing, and one thing only, and she really didn't need that one thing right now. In fact, she had more than enough of it at work. The waiter would be a mere shag. A fuck, nothing more. And she got that through her clients.

Besides, fucking her way out of this wasn't possible. She'd tried it last year, and that'd been a monumental failure. The alcohol hadn't helped either. Something she'd taken from Torchwood on her last day. A fermented something or other that perhaps hadn't been completely safe for humans. It'd certainly made her sicker than a dog for a few days.

"You're due a vacation," Melissa told her suddenly, eyes rising from the screen in front of her. She chuckled, tapping a French-tipped nail on the table. "Several actually. I like my girls to--"

"Take regular, relaxing vacations. I know." Sitting up straighter, she shrugged and brushed off the melancholy, fighting her way through the fog of sadness that was trying to descend on her again. "Well, happy days are here then because I'm taking tomorrow off."

"Friday?" Melissa asked in surprise, cultured voice rising as her forehead furrowed, "but that's Joseph's night. Like clockwork. You know he doesn't like changing schedules. Likes things in order, you know this."

"Yeah, I do. Doesn't matter. If he throws a hissy, set him up with one of the other girls." Going through a mental list, she snapped her fingers. "Jenna, she's exactly what he likes; sweet, innocent, girl next door."

Melissa shook her head. "He likes you, Rose--"

"Stop calling me that," she said curtly, her own accent, which she'd spent so long perfecting, getting just right--more cultured, less distinct--slipped away from her and she was once again Rose Marion Tyler, though she denied it in words. "I'm not her anymore." Sighing when Melissa merely raised a perfectly shaped brow in her direction, she fiddled with her sunglasses on the table. "Why are we really here?" Glancing around the outdoor café, a place she'd visited many times before during the year she'd first arrived, even with her mum a few times, she felt the long-buried grief trying to wash over her again.

Shoving it aside, she clothed herself in a shell of uncaring.

"It's been two years since we first met, I thought we'd have a little celebration. Familiar place. Good food--"

"All right, now I know something's up," Rose chuckled, twisting her lips up in a smirk.

"Not at all. Just wanted to talk. To see how you're doing." Melissa sat forward, crossing her arms on the table. When Rose remained silent, watching her knowingly, she sighed, drooping in her seat a little. "All right. We met two years ago, right here, in this very café."

"Yeah, I was there," Rose sighed, unhappy that Melissa was doing exactly what she'd thought she'd do, taking a trip down memory lane.

"You were so sad. There was just a... a halo of sadness and despair surrounding you. It was perfect timing for me to offer you a job. And yet, you turned me down without a second thought. Not many of my girls have done that." She twisted her lips up self-deprecatingly.

"Wow," Rose said softly, sitting back, eyes steady on her friend. "You make yourself sound like an opportunistic bitch. Not very flattering."

Melissa shrugged. "Also not very far from the truth. I can be both when I see opportunity." She frowned a little, fingernail tap-tap-tapping on the side of her laptop casing. "There's just something about you that's..." she ran her eyes over Rose with a frown, "striking. Didn't want to lose you. But you left here so adamant that you'd never work for me."

"Oh, it was flattering," Rose assured her sarcastically. "Woman comes up to me in a café, says I'd make a great hooker. Really, I was all atwitter. Something every little girl dreams of." Chuckling, she fiddled with her teacup. "And yet."

"Exactly. And yet." She spread her hands toward Rose. "Here you are. I thought I'd never see you again." Her full lips curved up into a pleased smile, and she lightly taunted, "You kept my card."

Rose sipped her tea before setting the cup down with a rattle and a scoff. "Did not. You slipped an extra one into my shopping bag. I found it--" pausing to clear her throat, pushing those days from her mind, she grabbed her cup and swallowed down another quick sip of the hot liquid. "I found it weeks later, tea-stained and all. Which, if I remember correctly, you were drinking when you tried to corral me into your harem."

Tossing a chastising look at Rose's description of her high-end call girl service, Melissa shook her head. "I didn't. I only ask once--"

_No second chances_.

"Offer the opportunity only once."

_That's the sort of man I am_.

Rose shrugged off the echo of words. "I threw your card away as I left here."

"Yes, I saw that. Which was why I was so surprised when you called. I thought maybe I was mistaken about what I saw you toss in the bin." She shrugged, continuing to observe Rose.

"You weren't mistaken." She wasn't fooled, she knew Melissa had slipped the card into her bag. She also knew Melissa hadn't sought her out merely to offer her a job. There was a clichéd story in Melissa's life; hooker, heart of gold and all that. She was a fair boss, a nice person, and a good friend.

That day, Rose had been feeling the loss of the Doctor more than usual. She wasn't even sure why, it'd just been something she woke up thinking about. Because of a dream. Something to do with her old mobile... though she still didn't quite remember the details. The entire day had consisted of seeing and hearing him everywhere she went. Silly, of course. It was just her imagination working in overdrive. Because of... well, it'd been 1 year since she'd last touched him, 6 months since she'd last seen his face and heard his voice.

She'd often wondered if it would've been better if he hadn't come to say goodbye. Hadn't given her that one, last hope, only to snatch it away with the cold, unintentional cruelty of an empty beach in Norway.

Life might've been simpler then. It might've been easier not knowing, with a finality that stung, that he was gone from her life forever. A certainty that bit. A cruelty that looked her in the face every morning in the mirror.

Mickey had just left a few weeks before Melissa approached her, and for some reason, Rose had been struck with the finality of everything.

The Doctor was gone. Her mum had a new baby and a new husband, a new life. Pete wasn't her real father. Torchwood was... well, Torchwood was in the past now.

She'd been alone that day.

And then came Melissa. She'd changed Rose's life without even knowing it. A few weeks later and Rose had found out what it was like to truly be alone. Her mum-- the baby.

Guilt washed through her again. It'd been her fault. She'd killed her mum. If she hadn't met the Doctor, hadn't stopped by Earth that fateful day-- well, no. That would've been even worse. Her entire Earth, and everyone on it, would've been destroyed by Daleks and Cybermen. It was no use thinking that way.

Still. She couldn't help but believe that she'd ultimately been responsible for her mum's death.

Sitting up with a sharp sniff, she looked up, startled to find Melissa watching her in concern.

"Don't," she cautioned the older woman, not in the mood for sympathy and handholding. That belonged to one man, and he wasn't here. And she was fine without him. She was okay. She'd made a life for herself, not with Pete's money, not with the job he'd provided for her. Not with a single bit of charity from him, had he cared to offer it.

Melissa blinked and her concern was gone. Rose knew it was still there, but she was keeping to Rose's wishes by not bringing up her previous life.

That was dead and gone.

Wasting no more of her time on memories and aliens who weren't within reach, she downed some of her tea, wincing at the now lukewarm liquid. "Share time over?"

Melissa's brows rose a bit, then settled lower. "Yes, share time's over. Although. I know it's a week early, but while I have you here, I'd like to go over client evaluations."

"Ah," Rose crowed, setting her teacup back down on the tabletop. "Knew there was a reason you'd called me here. Anniversary didn't quite cut it."

"I'm concerned about you, Ro-- Di."

"Don't be," Rose told her, voice harder than she'd intended. She didn't need Melissa's concern. There was nothing wrong with her or her life that a little time off wouldn't cure. A few days to get past the anniversary of the death of Jackie Tyler and she'd be fine. And Tony. Her little brother. A person she'd never got the chance to know.

And Pete.

That still hurt, despite his treatment of her after her mum's death.

Sliding her chair around beside Melissa's, she sat forward, elbow on the table, chin in hand. "Let's get started then."

"Okay, well, I noticed something earlier, when I was going through your clients, and I'm not even certain you're aware of it..."

* * *

*~*~*~*~*

* * *

Swaying back and forth from one leg to the other, the Doctor stared at the screen in frustration, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Nothing on Rose Tyler at all since Jackie's death.

Well, not _his_ Rose Tyler.

How was that even possible? She was still here, of course, she still existed. She had to, didn't she? She hadn't died. And yet, two years ago, she'd disappeared. Just went up in smoke.

Poof!

No job, no flat, no schooling. Rose Tyler wasn't-- oh. Rose Tyler wasn't Rose Tyler anymore. That had to be it.

An alias.

Grinning widely, he darted back to the keyboard, standing with his fingers hovering over the keys. For some reason, she'd changed her name. Was she in hiding? Didn't want anyone to know who and where she was? That could make it more difficult to find her, and yet, not impossible.

What name would she use?

Mind whirling with a thousand different possibilities, he quickly dismissed them all, one-by-one.

Dropping his hands to the edge of the console with a sigh, he realized that he hadn't a single clue what name she'd use. But there was another way to find her. He could do a search on women of her height, relative weight, hair color-- no, she could've changed that as well. Age. He could cross-reference that list with names she might've chosen.

He knew her well, but he didn't know her well enough to say for sure what she'd use. He'd try all the usual suspects and then go from there. People they'd met, come across, known.

One name popped into mind and he tried it immediately.

There was one Jacqueline Harkness in London, but she was forty-two years old. And a baker's daughter.

Not her.

Jabe maybe. Or Diana. Perhaps Gwyneth.

Closing his eyes with another sigh, he lowered his head. This was useless. It could take him years to find her this way. Maybe he should try calling Mickey. Could be she was staying with him. Living with him.

Sleeping with him.

That wasn't any of his business. If she and Mickey-- snapping open the phone case on the console, he quickly typed in Mickey's information on the keyboard, looking for his number. But then a thought occurred to him, and he nearly smacked his forehead at how stupid he was.

He could ring Rose's phone.

Dialing from memory, he held the handset to his ear and waited. A few clicks and a high-pitched screech later, it rang, once, slowly, drawing out in a lengthy, rundown noise that dribbled away to nothing. And then it went silent.

Pressing his finger down on the button a few times, he waited for a signal, but there was none.

Stroking the console, he set the handset back in its cradle. "That's all right, ole girl... oi, I sound like Harry." Shuddering, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the mobile Martha had given him.

Should be an easy enough thing to find her. He just needed to be clever enough. And he was always clever.

Popping off the back, he dug deep into his pocket, shoving his arm all the way inside, searching for... ah! Grabbing the adapter, he plugged one end into the mobile, set the phone down, and plugged the other end into the laptop.

Dialing Rose's number, he shoved the phone into the cradle between his ear and shoulder, typing out a long string of commands, hoping to trace her phone, and, by way of that, her. When he was done, he hit the Enter button and straightened up, watching the screen, catching the mobile as it slipped free and started to fall to the floor.

Images and words flew across the screen for milliseconds each, too rapid for him to take in completely, but he caught most of what was there. It was a lot of nonsense until one single image flashed on the screen and halted there, blinking.

With a sinking feeling, he tapped a button to take him to the website.

When the page loaded, that sinking feeling solidified into a tight knot in his stomach. Eyes darting over the images, he felt his anger at Pete resurface. He felt the urge to return to Pete's cold, lonely mansion, to show him what his uncaring actions had wrought.

She was calling herself Di Star now apparently. He never would've guessed that.

Realizing he was grasping the edge of the console so tightly that his nails were digging into the hard surface, he released it quickly, staring at the website, drinking in the sight of Rose.

She looked different. Her hair was longer, softly colored, professionally done, he'd wager.

Clothes, makeup, all of it was perfect. Of course, the photos were professionally done as well. Apparently Di Star was high end.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he backed up a step, stumbling at the sight of her, now imprinted on his mind. More flesh than he'd ever seen. Her flesh. Tastefully done, of course, more teasing than--

Eyes snapping open again to scan over her photos, he forced himself to look at her rationally. She was thinner. He didn't like that at all. She'd been perfect before. He'd always thought so anyway, wouldn't have changed a single thing about her, and yet, now, here she was completely changed. Completely different.

It wasn't right. This wasn't Rose Tyler. Not his Rose Tyler.

This was a stranger wearing her face. Rose Tyler would never, could never, be reduced to this, to selling her own body for....

Anger was rising in him again, this time aimed at himself. This was his fault. He'd caused it. All of it; Rose becoming a call girl, Jackie dying, Pete losing an entire family after only just gaining it back again.

On the heels of that, there was something dark and desperate rising in him.

All of those men.

She'd slept with so many by now. Almost two years since Pete had seen her. She was too polished not to have been at it for at least that long, and it made him fist his hands, dig his nails deep into his palms, needing that sharp bit of pain to help clear his mind of the anger and... yes, the jealousy.

Of course there was jealousy.

He may not have finished that sentence the last time he saw her, but the feelings were still there. Still bubbling inside of him, sending him recklessly into situations he had no business getting involved in in his state of mind. He'd nearly lost his current body a few times because of it.

Because the loss of Rose had hurt _so_ much.

Now that he was within reach of her again, within grasping distance, his hearts were beginning to thaw.

Prostitution wasn't exactly a new thing to him. He'd been around the universe a few times, from the beginning--well, had actually sort of caused the big bang in a way, just a bit... not his fault at all... mostly--to the very end of it, which he hadn't caused. Unless you countered in the fact that he'd started the beginning, and since all things died, all things had an end, then that meant he'd had a hand in its demise as well.

But he didn't like to think that way, it was too destructive.

Pushing his fingers through his hair, he gripped the strands, staring at Rose's image; half-naked, pouty lips, skin partially covered in stockings, thighs and bum-- swallowing thickly, he pulled his glasses from his pocket and shoved them onto his nose, stepping back a little more, needing some distance. She was... a call girl. Sleeping with men--and women?--for money.

The profession didn't bother him. He'd met hookers, prostitutes, call girls, gigolos, all manner of sex-for-sale types. In the future it was a respected profession. At times. Men, women, creatures selling their bodies for money. Sex for money. It was the oldest profession, not just on Earth, but in the universe at large.

But Rose Tyler.

His jaw tightened, moving back and forth as he ground his teeth together.

She was from a time when sex for money wasn't a respectable job. She'd been abandoned, left alone by her best mate, lost her mum and brother, lost her father, and job, and this was what she'd fallen into.

Selling her body.

He stood halfway between the console and the jump seat, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of her... flesh, and he was ashamed.

Most of his anger was directed inward now, toward himself. Because he liked what he was seeing. More than liked. Oh, he wanted to touch all that flesh, kiss his way down her back to the swell of her arse and... shuddering, he squeezed his eyes closed and shoved his fingers under his glasses, rubbing his eyes.

Why was this affecting him so much? He wanted to be angry for Rose, and he was, but he was aroused as well.

And furiously jealous of all the men that'd come before him.

All of those nameless, faceless men who'd touched her for money. Been allowed to do everything he'd ever wanted to do to her without question. And now, he wanted to do them even more. Anger surged up again, aimed at Rose now. How dare she do this to herself? How dare she let them touch her?

"Fuck her."

The sound of his own harsh voice startled him, made him jump. He was losing control. But the sight of Rose, spread out before him, selling everything he held dear, everything he wanted in two universes, angered him, made him furious. She might not have expected him to ever come back, but that didn't excuse the fact that she was degrading herself.

She loved him.

She'd told him that. It was the last words he'd ever heard from her. Was this her way of honoring him? Barking out a harsh laugh, he shook his head. Is that what he expected of the people whose lives he touched? That they honor him? No. But Rose was different.

Rose, he'd... well, he thought he'd made her better. Gave her a new perspective on the universe. Broadened her horizons. She'd seen the universe, talked to aliens, flirted with them, flirted with him.

He was an alien.

And when he was gone from her life, she'd had so much, a full family with more members on the way, a best mate, an exciting job helping Torchwood identify aliens.

What had Pete said? Petty claims about her coworkers. What did that even mean?

Boss' daughter probably had a lot to do with it. Not to mention showing up out of the blue with no background whatsoever. He could imagine that conversation and how well it would've gone.

He hadn't really thought of any of that while playing matchmaker with Jackie and Pete, sending Rose with them to this universe that apparently didn't have space for her.

This was his fault. He'd done this to her just like he'd done it to so many others. Martha. Sarah Jane. Susan. So, if he'd turned Rose into a prostitute, did he have a right to be angry?

Didn't seem to matter. He was. Furious.

Stumbling back to the jump seat, he dropped onto it and rested his head in his hands, wondering if Rose would even want to see him now after he'd ruined her life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Sub Rosa (2/4)  
**Author:** sinecure  
**Character/Pairing:** Ten/Rose  
**Rating:** Adult (M)  
**Genre:** Angst, drama, hurt/comfort, smut  
**Summary:** After Doomsday, Rose is living in Pete's World, but things aren't as great as the Doctor had hoped for her or her family.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Doctor Who.  
**Author's Notes:** Thanks to JennyLD for the beta. (This was posted most everywhere else a year ago for the TARDIS Big Bang. Somehow, I forgot to post it here.)

* * *

Slicing through the last of the onions, Rose dropped them into the skillet with the mushrooms and shook the pan. Taking a long swig of her beer, she swayed a bit to the music drifting through her flat. She loved dinnertime, when she had the night to herself with no clients to take care of or impress.

Tonight she was having a light meal, some good beer, and a comfortable evening at home.

Bare feet padding on the hardwood floor, she moved to the fridge. Cold air hit her bare legs, making her shiver. The man's shirt she was wearing only hit mid-thigh, the open collar revealing just the tops of her breasts. Wasn't the warmest thing in her wardrobe, but for some reason, it... well, no, she knew the reason. It made her feel sexy.

Made her think of the Doctor.

Made her imagine it was his shirt she was wearing. That he was just in the other room, shirtless, perhaps even naked, hair mussed, lying in bed after a bout of fantastic sex. And if she stretched her imagination even further, she could be making him dinner.

Tapping her fingers in time with the light music, she grabbed a block of mozzarella and tossed it to the counter.

Melissa's words came back to her as she grated some of the cheese over the chicken, and her mind tried to puzzle through it, but she angrily shoved the thoughts aside. She didn't want to think about it right now. Because, right now, at this very moment, she was just Rose Tyler, enjoying an evening at home. Later, she could figure out what Melissa meant. Later, she could wrestle with her grief and the loss of her mum and Tony.

Later, she could say goodbye to the Doctor properly.

Right now was about her. Her favorite meal, her favorite music and beer, and later, a nice, relaxing soak in the tub. She deserved it. Her nights and days had been too full lately. Too much about other people and what they wanted and not enough about herself and what she wanted.

Men, women, couples; they'd all been her concern for far too long.

"It's me time," she mumbled, swilling more of her beer, glancing around her flat while her dinner finished cooking.

Maybe Melissa was right about one thing though; this place wasn't home. All the money she'd saved up over the past two years, only a fraction of it had gone toward necessities, even less than that toward comfort. It was a nice place, very high end without being overly posh or fussy, but it was just hardwood floors, a nice bank of windows open onto the city, and nice furniture, nothing that screamed Rose Tyler.

Perhaps because she didn't exist anymore, she mused, setting her beer bottle down, wondering if it was time to change that.

Turning her back on the empty room, the white furniture that had no personality, the bare walls without so much as a stitch of color, she stirred the contents of the pan, then shut the stove off, shaking the vegetables over the chicken and cream sauce, serving it all up.

Taking her plate and beer to the dining room, she sat down and held her beer bottle out to the empty chair across from her with a chuckle. "Cheers, Doctor."

* * *

*~*~*~*~*

* * *

After dinner, she did the dishes and cleaned up a bit, putting everything back where it belonged. She'd had this night in mind for a long time, and she wanted it to be perfect.

Saying goodbye wasn't going to be easy.

Taking a letter down from her empty bookshelf, she smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles, running her finger over the name on the front of it. He'd never know, but she felt like she needed to do it anyway.

Pulling the keychain out from beneath her shirt, she grasped the metal key in her fingers and drew in a deep breath.

It was time.

Sliding the letter into her bra, she padded into the kitchen, opened a drawer, slipped a small, metal object into her shirt pocket, then left her flat behind. Near the end of the carpeted hallway, just past the lifts, she pulled open the door to the stairwell and headed up, toward the roof.

Her building was rather quiet, people mostly kept to themselves here. She knew some of her neighbors by sight, had talked to a few of them on occasion, but she didn't tend to socialize outside of her job. Her life, for the most part, consisted of work, lunches with Melissa, or one of the other girls, and the occasional evening out. Melissa had paid her a few visits, and Rose liked to think of her as a friend, but she knew that most of her relationships were mere shadows of what she used to have with Shareen, Mickey, and her mum.

The Doctor.

Which was why she'd finally decided enough was enough.

Pushing the door to the roof open, she stepped out into the cold night air, immediately assailed on all sides by a harsh wind. It stung her eyes and whipped her hair about. But it felt good. Smiling, she held the strands of her long hair back and headed to the south edge of the roof.

That was where she'd decided to do it.

Tiny pebbles dug into the bottoms of her feet as she scuffed them carefully along the gravel and dirt. Wincing when a large stone dug into the arch of her foot, she pulled the key from her neck, loosening it carefully from her hair. Stopping in front of the roof edge, she breathed in deep, feeling the sharp, cold air burning her lungs.

A feeling of calmness settled in her, but she shoved it away. She didn't want to be calm. This wasn't a time for calm. There should be tears and sadness and despair. Screaming and railing at life. There should be... no, there should be peace.

This was a time for resolution and decision-making.

Dropping to her knees, she settled on the rooftop, breathing an immediate sigh of relief at the calmer air. Threading the key and chain through her fingers a few times, she glanced up at the moon. A zeppelin drifted lazily by, blocking out most of the light.

Plunging her hands deep into the cold, damp soil of the garden box, she dug deep, past all the compost and mulching, carefully avoiding the flowers that were stubbornly clinging to life in the cold weather.

The soil crammed itself under her nails, and, for a moment, she just enjoyed playing in it, reminded of being a kid, playing in the dirt and mud, squeezing it through her fingers, squishing it between her toes. She was tempted to stand up and step into the flower box, but managed to resist the childish urge.

Her fingers began to throb in discomfort after just a few seconds. Shoving the dirt aside, into a pile, she settled the key at the bottom of the hole and poured the chain down on top of it.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Rose said a silent goodbye to the TARDIS, her home for some of the best years of her life.

She shook her hands, brushing them free of the dirt, then slipped her fingers into her shirt and took out the letter. Once again, her fingers smoothed over the name of the person it was addressed to, leaving faded smudges of dirt on the pristine envelope.

Digging into her pocket, she pulled a small, metal lighter free and touched it to the edge of the cream-colored envelope, striking the lighter. She knew the words by heart, and recited them in her head as she watched flames lick at the paper.

_Doctor, this is the last time I'll be writing you, or at least I hope it is because I need to move on with my life. And, since you're no longer a part of that life, it's time I let you go..._

That this was the fifth such letter she'd written over the years didn't matter, nor did it matter that they were all still safely tucked away in her room. She'd never got this far before, never been able to go through with letting go of the past, never taken these last, final steps in saying goodbye to him. This letter, and her TARDIS key, were her last real links to the Doctor.

Her old mobile was down in her bedside table, useless and dead. It was connected to him as well, but it was also a link to her mum, and she wasn't prepared to let go of that just yet.

The wind whipped around her, teasing at the flames, making them dance wildly one moment, then lick and reach toward her fingers the next.

Dropping the pages that were beginning to peel away from the envelope, she saw by the moonlight, a few words here and there. Burning, singeing pieces curled up and turned to ash.

It took only a minute before her heart's words were gone completely.

She'd expected to feel better; lighter, freer. Instead, her heart ached and she was shuddering, though not just because of the cold. Resting her dirty hands on her thighs for a moment, she caught her breath and let the pooling tears slip free.

The Doctor was gone from her life now, forever, and there was no getting around that fact anymore. Wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, she sniffed deeply, resolutely, and pushed the ashes of her love into the hole with the TARDIS key.

Chuckling at her own dramatics, she covered the remains of her life with the Doctor, patting the mound of dirt securely, hoping Bobby wouldn't notice she'd been in his garden. Hoping he wouldn't go digging around in there. He was all right, but she also knew he'd go around to every flat, asking about the key.

Pushing to her feet, she brushed her hands off. A cloud drifted in front of the moon and she stared up at, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. There was something different about the moon here, but she'd never been able to figure out what it was. Apparently a problem she had about a lot of things.

Melissa's words came to her again as she crossed quickly to the door, shivering in the windy night.

_At the outset, there are a variety of men represented in your clientele, but if you look closer, there are similarities that can't be dismissed. I just wondered if you were aware of it?_

Rose hadn't been, and she still wasn't. Her clients were of many different body types, had many different features, different personalities, all with very little in common, no matter what Melissa thought she was seeing. Or not seeing. Descending the stairs to her floor, she straightened her shirt at thigh level and ran her dirty hands absently through her hair.

Maybe it didn't matter anymore. Maybe it was a moot point. She'd been thinking of quitting anyway. She had more than enough money saved up to live in style, if she cared to. For a few years, at least. Longer, if she were as frugal as she'd been these past two years. But maybe it was time to splurge a little. To do something for herself, something that wasn't just about necessity. Something that would firmly entrench her in this universe instead of leaving her floating in limbo, neither a part of it, nor separate.

Closing the door of her flat behind her, she turned the lock and pressed back against it for a moment before heading into the bathroom. She needed a nice, long soak in the tub tonight. Something to relax her muscles and her mind, to wash away the dirt and memories.

Flipping the light on in the en suite, she padded across the marble floor, using her lighter on the half-burnt cream and purple candles spread throughout the room, sending up the scents of vanilla and lavender.

She hadn't always been one for such girly things, but her life these past two years had changed her. Awareness was more a part of her now, both sensually, and visually. She had a thing about touch now; something she'd learnt from the Doctor; that the simplest, most basic touch could mean so much more than the most intimate kiss, or caress.

Melissa had taught her more still.

But those simple things, the light touches, holding hands, knowing that could mean so much hadn't stopped her from wanting more from the Doctor.

A sad smile lifted her lips as she turned the faucets on. She'd never see him again, let alone get the chance to make love to him. Uncapping her favorite bath oil, she poured in a fair amount of the silky liquid, inhaling the scent of wildflowers as translucent bubbles formed in the churning water.

Capping the bottle, she moved to the sink to pin her hair up, but got a good look at her dirty hands and turned back to the tub, plunging her dirt-smeared fingers into the fountain of water. The hem of her shirt rose up, tickling her thighs and bum.

Touch.

Scrubbing under her nails with the warm water and a bit of soap, she realized it was time for another manicure. Her French tip nails were-- no. Here they were called ice tips. This universe had different names for quite a few things, but she'd stubbornly insisted on using her universe's names and titles and words.

Perhaps it was time to change that as well.

This was her home now and she ought to treat it like it was. So, from now on, she'd get her nails ice-tipped. Have her beans on bread, and refuse to watch the Northenders.

Shaking her hands over the tub to remove the excess water, she straightened up and began unbuttoning her shirt, striding toward the sink again. Fingers sliding under each button, she watched herself in the mirror, seeing what her clients saw. Many of them liked to watch her undress. More liked to undress her themselves.

She wondered what the Doctor would like.

Her lips curved up knowingly. He'd definitely want to watch, she was sure of it.

Working each button free, slowly exposing each inch of flesh, she raised her eyes to her hair; it was hanging down wildly, resembling nothing more than sex-tousled hair, truly sex-tousled, that was, not the artful way she arranged it for her clients.

With the last button freed, she dropped the shirt ends, leaving it hanging open, the swell of her breasts, tanned and golden, nipples still hidden, showed just enough to tease. Raising her arms, she ran her damp hands through the strands of her hair, combing them, taming them a bit. Fashioning the mess into a quick, messy bun, she stared at herself, trying to see what others saw.

Honey blonde hair with lighter streaks in front, darker underneath. Hours in the salon.

A trim body, all the excess she used to have, gone. Opening the ends of her shirt, she slipped it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Small, perky breasts. Flat tummy, curvy hips, trim legs.

Blowing air out from between pursed lips, she made a face at herself.

Sexy was what others perceived in a person, a piece of clothing, a hairdo, it wasn't what she, as a human being, was. It was all the preconceptions others had that made her sexy in their eyes. She didn't see it herself though. To her, the woman standing before the mirror was still the same tomboy from the Powell Estates, following Mickey around, flirting with Jimmy, arguing with her mum.

But sometimes, when she'd been with the Doctor, she'd felt sexy.

The way his eyes widened when she dressed up the first time. Cardiff. The warmth in his gaze when he looked at her in the lift on Satellite 5 and took her hand. _Looks like it's just you and me now._ His slow smile when he first saw her in her 50's getup for Elvis.

Sitting on the back of his Vespa, arms curled around his waist, she'd felt sexy because his stomach muscles had fluttered under her palms, and as she'd pressed her face against his neck to hide her face from the wind, she'd felt him catch his breath.

Now, standing naked before her mirror, candles lit all around her, the scent of the bubble bath behind her, she felt like Rose Tyler. Not Di Star.

Maybe that was good though. She didn't want to lose herself completely after all.

Drawing in a deep breath, she dropped her arms and crossed to the light switch, flipping it off. The candles provided plenty of soft, fluttering yellow light throughout the large room. The fluffy cream, gold, and red décor soothed and calmed her, allowing her to relax and her mind to wander. It went where it always did, and where she no longer fought against it going.

The Doctor.

He was never far from her thoughts, always popping up in them.

A giggle left her as she imagined him popping up out of the bath, throwing his head back, getting water everywhere as he shook himself off with a loud, 'Ah!' bubbles dripping down his chest. Eyes inviting her to join him.

Suddenly it wasn't funny anymore.

Sighing, she stepped over to the tub and turned off the faucets, wishing she'd got the chance to kiss him at least. A real kiss. As herself and fully aware. Who knows if it would've led to more? Maybe he didn't have sex. Maybe he wasn't attracted to her. Maybe he didn't even have the right parts. Would've been nice to have found out though, one way or another.

Watching the steam rise up toward the ceiling, she dipped her fingers into the warm liquid. Perfect.

She stepped into the tub, gasping at the sudden heat, sighing in delight as it lapped at her legs.

But the thought of the Doctor in there with her wouldn't leave her alone.

He could hold his breath for a long time. She'd once seem him dive into a lake after a guard force on Teepel threw his sonic screwdriver in, then waited for minutes without a sign from him.

Closing her eyes, sitting on the side of the tub, she imagined him in there with her now, kissing his way up her legs, stopping just inside her left knee to press a tender kiss there, sliding his tongue along her skin before moving higher. She wanted to run her hands through his hair, always had. She loved his hair. If he were here in the tub with her, his head would be just there, between her legs.

A breath escaped her lips at the thought. She could almost feel the soft strands brushing the insides of her thighs.

She was growing warmer than the heated water could claim credit for. Her body was loosening up, muscles relaxing, turning to liquid with the calming scents drifting through the room, the warm water, and the fantasies skimming her mind. Her fingers skimmed just as lightly along her thighs, widening them a bit to accommodate the Doctor's imaginary head.

Fingertips reaching her folds, she trailed them away again, imagining him wrapping his hands around her waist, imagining his nails digging into her hips, holding her still when he slid his tongue inside her.

Moisture began to gather in her and she dipped her hands into the oil-scented bath water, then slid one up to her breasts, dropping her head back. Cupping a breast as water and bubbles slid down her arm, she straightened her back and pinched her nipple. Spreading her legs even farther apart, she dipped her other hand into her folds, teasing the hot flesh there, playing lightly with her swollen folds.

Thoughts of the Doctor always aroused her so quickly. She wanted to go straight to her clit and rub herself off, but she knew it'd be better if she dragged it out, extended her arousal, brought herself to the brink several times before letting herself come.

But the Doctor.

Would he be that skillful? Did he even know how to bring a woman to orgasm? Did he have any idea that she'd fingered herself to thoughts of him so many times over the years?

Before losing him she'd huddled under her covers, breathing deeply, biting her lip to silence her cries, sliding her finger into her folds, getting herself off quickly, afraid he'd know. Afraid he'd guess that she was in there touching herself.

She'd feared he'd toss her out if he found out.

But she hadn't stopped. In fact, as time went on, she'd got bolder and sneaked a vibrator on board in her laundry. He'd never caught her. Not that she knew of anyway. Never guessed. Though, at times, she'd wished he would. Fantasized about it, like now. Pictured him coming into her room and catching her with a vibrator deep inside her, imagined him watching in silence before approaching the bed and taking over for her, using his fingers and mouth.

Then his cock.

Not knowing about his sexuality, or his abilities as a lover was both a blessing and a curse. She didn't know if he had the bits, but she could fantasize that he did. If she'd found out for sure that he didn't, it would have ruined every one of her fantasies.

Although he still had a mouth that he liked to use.

Could've used that on her, she thought, sliding her fingers in deeper, caressing her clit with slow circles. Gasping breaths slipped past her parted lips as the moisture on her skin began to gather and drip down. Strands of her hair that'd escaped from the knot plastered themselves against her skin.

Cupping a breast, she pinched her nipple harder, beginning to thrust her hips a little as pleasure washed over her. Curling her toes on the bottom of the tub, she pressed her feet up on tiptoes, sliding forward a bit, seeking more of her own teasing fingers. She masturbated quite often, had to in order to come these days. Images swirled around in her head, not shoved out by the wrong body type, or the wrong hair color.

An image of the Doctor, strong and vibrant, settled in her mind, and there was no one above her or behind her or between her legs to ruin the vision.

No voice to drown him out.

Slipping her fingers deep inside her folds, she gathered the moisture there and thrust them in a few times, adding a third after a couple of strokes. The feel of her fingers filling her up made her arch her back and open her eyes to peer in the mirror in front of her.

She wished the Doctor were here, aggressively taking her from behind.

A whimper escaped her at the thought and she briefly considered going to her room to get her vibrator, but she was too impatient tonight, didn't want to tease herself anymore. She just wanted to come.

Licking her lips, she spread her legs wider and watched her fingers disappear into her body. She could see him, sitting in front of her, watching her fingers, her hand, eyes darting from there to her face, stopping midway to caress her chest. He'd want to taste her. Slip his tongue under her nipple, then bite it, sucking the flesh into his mouth.

He'd want to touch every inch of her, taste every bit, see every reaction.

Would he stroke his cock as he watched her? Grit his teeth at the intense pleasure of his own hand? Imagine her swollen folds surrounding his hard flesh?

Biting her lip, she twisted her nipple, seeing what so few of her clients ever had; true arousal on her face. Pure pleasure.

Her responses lately had become so artful and designed. Phony. But they liked it. If she didn't come, screaming, most of them would be offended. Some wouldn't care, others would complain and demand another girl.

She didn't want to be known as the cold bitch that couldn't come.

And it wasn't that she couldn't. It was just rare. And, most times, it was the women clients who managed to get her to that point. Though some of them were just as clueless as the men. Thought they were god's gift. Thought that, just because they were women, they knew what she wanted, what she needed. None of them could ever be what she wanted.

Sliding her fingers free, she slipped them between her lips, curling her mouth up at the taste. Wasn't her favorite flavor in the world, but it was all right.

Would the Doctor like it?

A lot of men didn't. Jarrod was one of the rare few who did, and he always insisted on making her come with his mouth. She didn't even pretend to come from his cock anymore since he enjoyed 'taking care of her' as he liked to say.

It was a typical male fantasy. And Jarrod liked it all. The whole 'girl next door' thing. Clean cut, fresh-faced. Innocent and untouched. The whole shebang.

She played a part, a role, did what was required of her, and that didn't usually include coming. The pleasure on her face now, though, in the mirror, that was real, not fabricated.

Rubbing her clit with her thumb as she thrust back into her folds, she felt her body tauten, beginning to burn from the inside.

It wasn't _her_ fingers she wanted in her though. It was the Doctor's. Or, better yet, his cock.

But Rose was nothing if not realistic these days. Maybe he didn't have a cock. Maybe he did but it was shaped differently. He could have tentacles instead, or tentacles coming off of his cock. Or spikes, or bumps or... it could render a human immobile.

She didn't know. Nor would she ever.

With sadness beginning to burrow in her, she sped up her thrusts, pushing everything but her thoughts of the Doctor away. Her fingers became his cock. Her panting breaths, echoing in the large room, became his. And when she began to thrust her hips harder, it was against his body, into his mouth.

The thought of the Doctor's mouth on her made her whimper and her body snapped. Her hips bucked wildly, while her inner muscles clenched uncontrollably around her fingers. She held her breath until her chest began to ache, and then let it out in short, shuddering breaths in time with her mildly jerking hips.

The intense pleasure began to lessen as her body relaxed into a shaking mass of flesh and liquid muscle. Slipping into the tub, she lazily stroked her sated folds, feeling the overwhelming pleasure begin to rise again, slowly, so slowly. Closing her eyes, she relaxed back against the warm porcelain, feeling the water lapping at the top of her breasts.

The scent of her body's musk mingled with the candles and bath oils and she got herself off again to thoughts of the Doctor as a final goodbye.

* * *

*~*~*~*~*

* * *

At a rapid knocking on the door, Rose crossed the hotel room and opened it to a grinning, bouncing Jenna. She was, naturally, what some of the other girls had to work so hard to become; clean-cut, fresh-faced, and innocent-looking. Quite a favorite with her clients. Her eagerness just now, didn't help disabuse of that notion in the slightest. In fact, it helped it along.

She slipped past Rose, light brown hair bouncing in a high ponytail, teasing her back. Spinning around, she took in the room with bright eyes. "New client," she practically squealed, and Rose couldn't help but grin back. "Are you excited? Scared?" She turned from her examination of the room with a low, impressed whistle. "I've never been here," she said, voice low. "It's gorgeous. I mean really gorgeous."

Rose had to agree with her. "It is." She really was much more inclined to these rooms than the ones she'd been frequenting for the past two years now. It was all dark wood, mahogany-covered walls, a monstrous desk in the corner, and the large, wrought iron bed right in the center of the room, set up on a small dais. Just a single step up.

Her new client had insisted, and Melissa had obliged. Rose wasn't sure if she was impressed with the new bloke's clout and sway over Melissa, or annoyed.

Though she was definitely verging on annoyed.

As Jenna dropped her purse to the bed, Rose continued placing candles around the room. Another condition: he wanted no artificial light, just the subdued glow of candlelight.

After a moment of silence, Jenna joined her, helping with the last of the candles, moving some of the ones Rose had already placed, looking at them with a designer's eye-- her former profession. She slid a red candle across the surface of the windowsill and tossed a quick glance Rose's way. "You _are_ nervous. And here I thought you were the stoic one."

Rose shrugged, tilting her head at the perfection of Jenna's work. "A bit nervous I guess," she admitted. This wasn't how she usually worked. Normally she'd choose her own clients, or, at the very least, had a final say-so. The last word. This time though... all she had was a single name, and it probably wasn't even real. She sighed, blowing her hair out of her face. "I don't understand how this is supposed to 'help' me." Setting another candle on the nightstand, she grumped, "And I still don't see anything wrong with my selection of clients."

Jenna watched her with a concerned eye. "Melissa's good people."

"Yeah, I know," Rose agreed, and really, she was. Melissa was a good friend, if a bit mum-like. "I just-- I'm really nervous. Haven't been this bad since my first month. What if there's something wrong with him that Melissa's background check didn't catch?" Bracing her arms on the wrought iron footboard, she slumped down a bit, loosely tied robe gaping open.

Jenna joined her, mimicking her position, eyes slipping to Rose's chest for a moment. "What if he's hideous?"

"He could have the cleanest bill of health ever, like she said, but he could also be completely mental. Psychotic." She tightened her robe tie and straightened it with a sigh.

"A nutter," Jenna added in a hushed voice, but then her sunny disposition jumped to the fore again and she grinned, pushing away from the bed. "He could be a celebrity. Cor! What if it's David Beckham?"

Rose scoffed and circled the bed, glancing at the clock. Ten minutes. Her heart was beginning to pound, palms starting to sweat. Next time Melissa tried to talk her into a new client, sight unseen, she'd tell her thanks, but no thanks. "I'd rather it weren't. Too high maintenance." Slipping two simple blouses from her overnight bag--a red one and a blue one--and a pair of black slacks, she untied her robe.

"You're thinking of Posh," Jenna corrected, looking over the clothes with a critical eye. "The blue one's nice." She slid her hand down the simple cotton blouse.

Letting the Posh versus Beckham thing go, Rose held the blue blouse up, pressing it against her, slipping her leg out to see it against the blue material. "It's new," she told Jenna, holding the red one up as well. "_He_ insisted on all new clothing. Not like he'd know anyway," she sniffed. "I get the feeling he doesn't like to share."

"Then what's he doing going to a call girl?" Jenna snickered, putting a hand on her hip, giving Rose a commiserating look. "We've all been around the block a few times, honey." She stopped and bit her lip, then twisted them up in distaste. "Oi, that sounded stupid."

Rose's eyebrows lifted in silent acknowledgement.

Jenna shrugged a shoulder. "Been trying out different personas, ya know? Don't wanna be the girl next door, or the 'girlfriend' forever. I wanna expand my client base." She fingered the blue blouse again, fingers trailing down Rose's hip a bit. "Looks lovely. You should go with the blue, definitely. The red is too... naughty seductress. The blue is softer, more casual. You said he wanted casual, yeah?"

"Yeah." Glancing from one to the other, she finally shoved the red blouse back into her bag. Another glance at the clock and she realized time was running out. Six minutes left. Dropping her robe from her shoulders, she laid it on the bed and slid the blue shirt over her head. Quickly stepping into the black trousers, she saw Jenna's eyes slide over her body.

"Sure he doesn't want a threesome?" Jenna murmured, green eyes taking in Rose's exposed flesh, paying particular attention to her breasts, the tops of which were exposed just slightly.

Rose chuckled and arranged her breasts in her bra, shifting and stretching until her cleavage was just right. Pulling out the black silk scarves and matching padded handcuffs from the bag, she tossed Jenna a look. "Sorry. Doesn't like to share, remember?"

Jenna shrugged and moved around to the other side of the bed, silk scarf in hand. "That's what they all say, but what they really mean is that they don't like sharing with other men." She considered her words with a bob of her head. "Unless they do. In which case they don't want another woman there." Sliding the cool silk between her fingers, she shook her head. "They all want something different, and yet, it all boils down to the same thing. Sex."

"Soon too," Rose told her, with a tap on the clock face. "Help me light the candles so it's not all smoky in here when he gets here. Then--"

"Tie you up?" She grinned, eyeing the black silk.

Rose eyed Jenna, noticing a devilish spark in her eyes. She was acting oddly tonight, a bit more familiar than usual. Well, she'd always been overly friendly, but that was just a part of _her_. Her personality. "No, he doesn't want me tied up. Just... apparently all he wants is to talk." Brow rising she considered Jenna. "You weren't planning on readying me while I was tied up and helpless, were you?"

Jenna's lips slid up, though she tried to fight it. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Rose didn't believe her one iota. "Sorry, not this time. Besides, never with a new client that I'm not comfortable with yet. He asked for so many specific things, and though I hate the idea of jumping through hoops for him--anyone!--I'd rather not screw this up. Okay?"

Grin fading, Jenna nodded crookedly and sighed. "Yeah, that's fine. I was mostly having you on."

Rose nodded, satisfied that she was telling the truth this time, feeling a bit of the tenseness leave her. After this one time, she was telling Melissa not to make executive decisions in her clientele ever again. She liked the control it gave her to pick and choose who she was going to allow to fuck her.

Stripping the duvet back, she smoothed her hand down the silken sheets, nearly purring in pleasure.

"Ooo la la," Jenna squealed. "This guy is definitely a celebrity. I mean, this hotel is _posh_, Di." She grinned again as Rose tried to calm her nervous stomach. "And, you know, if you can, just work in the fact that you're right on with threesomes, just... bring it up to him casually, and, wow, coincidence, you have the perfect girl in mind for one." She raised her eyebrows, hopeful smile lifting her lips.

Rose chuckled and crossed to the bathroom, arranging her hair into a loose ponytail. He'd wanted minimal makeup and simple dress, nothing fancy, and, she thought, tilting her head this way and that, she looked a little too close to Rose Tyler for her comfort. It was better to be Di at all times with clients.

Jenna leaned against the doorjamb, watching her.

"Anyway, that's all on my bio page. I'm sure if he wants a ménage a trois, he'll say something." Eyeing the younger girl's excited face, she added, "He could be a politician for all we know. Prime minister or-- I mean, president," she corrected hastily.

Jenna eyed her curiously. "Sometimes you say the oddest things. I mean, you're smart and all, but I sometimes feel like... I don't know, like this is your first trip to planet Earth the way you get some of the easiest, most fundamental things wrong. Like beans on bread!" She chuckled and pushed away from the doorjamb, watching Rose as she went past. "Who'd want beans on _toast_?"

Rose chuckled self-deprecatingly, thinking to herself, yeah, who'd want them that way when having them on soft, mushy bread was so much tastier. "It's just something my mum made me back when I was little." Forcing the butterflies in her stomach to settle, she eyed the silk ties. He hadn't requested them, but with him wanting the mask, it was always a possibility.

Here just to talk.

Sliding the ties and cuffs under the pillows, she breathed deeply, smelling the cinnamon candles.

She wasn't a fan of being tied up, but she'd learnt to deal with it. All those prisons she'd spent time in with the Doctor hadn't helped any. She'd had to get past the feelings of helplessness and the loss of control before allowing a client to restrain her. Hours of practice with Melissa and a few of the other girls had helped.

Jenna stood back to examine her, then slid a hand down Rose's arm, eyes on her face and breasts. Then she was touching where she was looking, trailing her fingers along the swell of Rose's cleavage. Slightly lower and Rose let out a breath, liking the touches, liking Jenna being the one touching her, but this was neither the time, nor the place.

Well, it was the place, but she had no more time. "Jenna," she warned. "He'll be here any minute."

That snapped Jenna out of her lust. "Sorry." She hastily moved around the room, lighting candles and rearranging a few at the same time. "It's just, well, it's hard having a relationship outside of work because you're lying to him--or her--and if you do tell him--or her--he's threatened and just ends up leaving you." She paused, biting her lip, watching Rose in the mirror across from the bed. "So, I thought, well, dating one of us might be easier, yeah? No lying, no feeling threatened. No jealousy. And..." she sighed and darted across the room, standing on her toes to press a firm kiss to Rose's lips, sliding a hand down to cup one of her breasts. "Well, I just really like you, Di."

Rose sighed, frustrated that Jenna had chosen now of all times to bring this up. "Now's really not the time, Jenna." Her eyes darted to the clock. Two minutes. She shifted in place, trying to ignore the small caresses of Jenna's hand on her nipple. "I need to get ready now. He'll be here in a tic, just--" she bit back the words, eyes darting toward the door when a knock sounded. Panic soared in her and she shooed Jenna away. "Hurry," she whispered, nodding toward her bag. "The blindfold."

Jenna rushed around to the other side of the bed, bending to rifle through the bag before holding the black silk mask up with a triumphant grin. Kicking the bag under the bed, she hastily circled it, handing the mask to Rose who quickly slipped it on and arranged her hair around the elastic band.

Rose wanted to tell her to just go, slip out quietly, but Jenna pressed another kiss to her lips, silencing her.

"Have fun," she whispered and then she was gone.

Rose sat on the edge of the bed, holding her breath, trying to catch any sound she could, but Jenna was being very quiet. A moment later, the door opened and Jenna greeted the mysterious client with a cheerful hello.

"Don't mind me, I'm just on my way out, she, uh... she needed some help preparing."

Straining for every little noise, Rose was disappointed when all she caught was a soft click and the barest, lowest murmur of a man's voice, muffled behind a partially closed door. This whole thing was frustrating. She'd been blindfolded by clients before, but not without knowing the person first. Not without having spent at least _some_ time with him or her.

She was going to kill Melissa for psyching her out about her client list and then forcing her into taking on this new one, sight unseen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Sub Rosa (3/4)  
**Author:** sinecure  
**Character/Pairing:** Ten/Rose  
**Rating:** Adult (M)  
**Genre:** Angst, drama, hurt/comfort, smut  
**Summary:** After Doomsday, Rose is living in Pete's World, but things aren't as great as the Doctor had hoped for her or her family.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Doctor Who.  
**Author's Notes:** Thanks to JennyLD for the beta. (This was posted most everywhere else a year ago for the TARDIS Big Bang. Somehow, I forgot to post it here.)

* * *

Watching as Rose's friend disappeared down the hall, the Doctor took a deep, shuddering breath, a little surprised at the unfamiliar sound of his own voice. It felt a bit like he'd regenerated somewhere between the lift and the hotel room.

Using the sonic screwdriver on his vocal chords was probably cheating. Just a bit. Probably a low down, dirty cheat, but he couldn't let Rose know who he was. Not yet anyway.

Once Jenna had rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight, he pushed the door to the room open, and stepped inside, glancing around once quickly before allowing himself to even look in Rose's direction. It was nice in here, but he knew that already. He'd checked the hotel out earlier and had found it to his liking well enough then. But he wasn't exactly particular about the decor; he'd just wanted someplace nice where Rose had never met a client before. And after breaking into Melissa's files, Rose's in particular, he knew this place was perfect.

Nice, dark wood, thick drapes. Candles on nearly every surface, sending up the scent of... was that jasmine and cinnamon?

Closing the door behind him with a soft click, he let his eyes settle on the bed. On Rose.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a blue blouse and black slacks, looking so much like she used to that it made his hearts ache a tiny bit. But no matter how much he yearned for days gone by, he'd never get them back again. She was a different person now, a woman.

A very beautiful, sexy woman who sold her body for money.

The thought helped to clear his head a little and he resumed his perusal. Her hair was in a ponytail, the warm, honey colored strands hanging halfway down her back. Her shoulders were perfectly straight, and he could see the stiffness in her posture, knew she was nervous, unsure of what to expect from him.

He didn't blame her really. He'd asked for a casual appointment, but she didn't know exactly what he wanted.

A sense of irony went through him. Aside from the blindfold covering her eyes, this could be just an average trip on a random planet for them. No, strike that. Even _with_ the blindfold it could be one of their trips.

Lips curving up, he pushed away from the door and clicked the lock into place. Feet carrying him silently across the room toward the bed, toward Rose, he slipped his hands into his pockets. He'd had a whole speech thought out for this moment, things he wanted to say to her, things he wanted her to know. Questions for her. But as he got closer, all he could do was stare at her, breathe her in. The smell of her shampoo and soap teased his nostrils, through they were different from before.

It'd only been three years, and yet he felt like a century had gone by. The remembered feel of her hand in his made his palm itch. The way her lips would curl up just so when he teased her made his own lips lift higher. The way her body had felt against his when he'd held her tight and pretended she was just a mate, caused a longing in his chest.

The words that he'd wanted to ask her from the moment he saw her spilt from his lips. "Are you happy?" She frowned, probably not expecting such a personal question. But then again, maybe this was par for the course with her. "In your life," he clarified. "Are you happy?"

Her lips twisted up in amusement. "You're not gonna try to sell me religion are you?"

An answering amusement left him in a brief chuckle and he shook his head, though she couldn't see it. "No. Nothing like that."

Face smoothing out, but for her brow furrowing above the blindfold, she tilted her head to the side a bit. "I'm... satisfied. I've got a good life."

Her voice was different. The accent he'd--sort of--acquired from her was missing. She'd lost the distinctive inflection that was Rose Tyler and he didn't like that. "But you're not happy," he concluded, eyes rising from her hands in her lap to the frown playing at her lips. Shouldn't be a stumper, he thought. Not for her.

Smiling a little, confusion lacing her voice, she shrugged a shoulder. "Is anyone ever really happy?"

There were plenty of responses she could've given, but instead of picking one of them, she was tossing questions back at him, and that was all the answer he needed. She wasn't happy with her life. Sadness swept through him, nostalgia--a feeling he rarely gave life to--simmering in his hearts. "I've been happy quite a bit in my life. Been a while though. There was-- there was a girl. She... well, I loved her, but then I lost her. For a time, though, for a time we were very happy together."

"I'm sorry," she murmured, and though he couldn't see her eyes, he imagined her staring off into the distance, thinking about her time with him, or her life in her old universe before she'd met him. She'd been happy then. With Mickey.

Why wasn't she with him now?

Drinking in every inch of her face, wishing she could see him as well, but terrified of what he'd see in her eyes just now, he sat on the bed beside her. "_Are_ you happy?"

"I--" she sighed, then smiled, though it was more sad than anything. "I have sex for a living, what more could I want?"

Lifting his hand, he brushed his thumb across her cheek, whispering sorrowfully, "Happiness?"

She sniffed, straightening her shoulders a bit. "I'd prefer to keep my personal life out of this. Do you-- are you here just to talk?" Her fingers played with the hem of her blouse, and he had the absurd thought that she'd be more comfortable with it off. Would rather have sex than talk.

"Yes." Settling a hand over hers, he stilled her fingers, then pulled back. He wanted nothing more than to thread his fingers with hers, pull her up and ask her to come with him. But he had to be sure first, absolutely certain that her life here wasn't what she wanted. "What'd you used to do?" he asked, hoping the change in subject would lessen her nervousness.

Or was that just him?

Eyes on her fingers, he shoved his own under his thighs.

"How d'you know this isn't all I've ever done?" she asked, voice curious, on stronger ground now that he'd changed the subject.

"Just a guess," he lied, settling his hands in his lap, mirroring her position. "You don't seem as..." searching for the right word, not wanting to offend her, he drew in a deep breath and let it out in a rush, going with the single word he could think of, "jaded as I'd expect you to be if you'd been at this for more than a few years."

Chuckling lightly, she turned toward him, lifting a leg onto the bed. "I was a shopgirl before. Now I'm a call girl. Way to fall up, yeah?"

Holding his breath a bit, he pushed the words through his lips, exhaling heavily as he did so. "And nothing in between that?"

"No," she answered immediately, shaking her head, pretending nonchalance. "I had a life prior to this one, but it's in the past. I'm here now. For you, Charles." Her hand settled on his thigh, teasing, seductive, and all he could think about was holding it. He supposed most men would be preoccupied with how close she was to certain bits of himself that she'd be all too happy to handle for him.

He wasn't most men though.

But he also wasn't as unaffected as he pretended. Guess they were both phonies.

Taking her hand from his leg, he momentarily threaded his fingers with hers, just the tips, not enough for her to feel the familiarity of his hand. Just a brief touch, curling his fingers in and away again before settling her hand back on the bed between them.

She sighed and tried to hide it behind a smile. "Sure, you just wanna talk, Charles?"

He almost regretted choosing Charles D'Raist as a name, but Melissa had put him on the spot. He'd chosen, at that very moment, not to use his real name, the one Rose knew him as, and that'd been what started this whole night. He'd scheduled this meeting only an hour before hopping forward and coming up to her room. When asked for a name, he'd stared dumbly around before his eyes settled on his Chucks.

And so Charles D'Raist was born.

During the hour between making the appointment and landing just outside the hotel, he'd hopped back in time and had the TARDIS whip up a fake identity for Charles D'Raist, making him an impeccable businessman, completely healthy, and an upstanding citizen.

"Just talk," he agreed. "Are you... happy?" he asked again, intent on getting an answer to his question, an honest one.

Sitting on her hands, she adjusted her leg on the bed, loosening up, becoming more Rose-like, less Di Star, high-priced call girl. Now that sex wasn't on the menu, she seemed to become someone else, someone like herself, but... different. "I have a good life. A nice boss, friends, a comfortable life, and I'm... well, I'm really beginning to make the effort to fit into this univ-- life. For the first time in a long time."

Seeming to realize that she was actually discussing her personal life with a complete stranger, she cut herself off and chuckled nervously.

Her assertions didn't fool him. She may be trying harder than she had before, but she still wasn't comfortable being here, and that helped him a great deal. His doubts and guilt were slowly beginning to slip away.

Turning more fully toward him, she lifted her blindfolded eyes in his direction and bit her lip. "Are _you_ happy, Charles?"

"Ah. I, er, am... not un-happy," he said honestly. That would've been hard to say once upon a time--many times actually, too many times throughout his lives--but at this moment in his life, even before finding the key to getting back to Rose, his life did not actually suck. It'd been good for a while. There was Martha, and Donna.

Jack for a while.

Opnor for a year. Bit of an odd fellow, Opnor.

A few others here and there. No one that really stuck though.

But now he was back with Rose, on the verge of traveling with her again, talking to her--well, he was doing that now, but with her actually aware that it was him--holding her hand, hugging her tight. Life was pretty good at the moment.

Without a single thought that he could decipher, his hand landed on hers and he slipped his fingers in between hers, piggybacking her hand with his own.

"Sure you just wanna talk?" she asked softly, leaning toward him. Her other hand came up and clumsily rested against his cheek. "Are you sure you don't want something more?"

He wasn't.

With her breath wafting over his lips, her own hovering so near his, he found it hard to think, to work out what he wanted from her just now. Sex? Oh, yes. But that was supposed to come later, after they were back on the TARDIS and had a chance to get reacquainted. A kiss? Perhaps just talk? Why was he here? To see, without influencing her, what she wanted. Yes, that was it.

Licking his lips, he leaned in closer without having told his body to do so and the tip of his tongue slid across her upper lip, just a tiny touch, but she smiled and slid her hand to the back of his neck, drawing him closer.

"Tell me, Charles, what do you want?"

Without hesitation, he answered, "You, Rose Tyler," and heard her gasp, felt her body stiffen beside him. He could've smacked himself and his wayward tongue.

Jerking away from him, she drew her hand back as if burnt. "I know you! What, are you-- are you from Torchwood? Is that why you seem so familiar?" She reached up to remove the blindfold, but he grabbed her hands, holding them tightly.

"No, don't--"

"I knew it," she spat, lip curling up in disgust. "I knew I'd run into someone from Torchwood eventually." Struggling against his grip, she grunted, trying to stand, to get away from him, but he held her still, not loosening his grip any. "So, what? You saw my advert and had to come look at the freak show?"

"No," he denied, voice insistent, unable to let her think that even for a moment.

"Well, it doesn't matter, does it? Go on, look your fill. Run back to Torchwood and tell my fath-- tell Pete Tyler what his precious daughter is up to." Her voice lowered and she stopped struggling against him. "Not like he'll care anyway."

"That's not why I'm here," he told her softly, wanting, despite her fears, the opportunity this afforded him to use her name without her wondering how he knew.

Sighing, she relaxed back on the bed. He loosened her hands a bit. "Then why are you here? You _are_ Torchwood. I know from experience that background checks are easily got around."

"I'm here because of you, Rose." Voice filled with honesty, he heard it shake just a bit and cleared his throat. Hand drifting to her cheek again, he smoothed his fingertips down her skin. "Just you. No other reason."

She shifted a bit, back to being more in her comfort zone. Fingers fisting in her shirt, she yanked it up and drew it over her head, tossing it aside, baring herself to his gaze. "Well, let's get to it then," she told him, reaching back to unhook her bra, and then suddenly he was staring at her bare breasts.

Only for a moment though. Before he could move, or protest, or even finish taking a breath, Rose was straddling his lap, pressing her mouth to his. His arms went around her automatically, feeling warm, smooth flesh under his palms as she kissed him hard, determinedly, breathing heavily though her nose as she attacked his mouth, moving on him, giving him no chance to stop her.

Did he want to?

Arousal, still burning in him from earlier, from his first glimpse of her website, from all that jealousy for the men--many men--and women who'd come before him, fought to the surface, taking over his hands.

He gripped her tighter, drawing up with her as she kissed him, holding his head still with a hand to the back of his neck.

Nails grasping at her sides, he followed her mouth when she drew away a bit, breathing harshly. "Rose--"

Her mouth pressed to his again, hard and punishing. "Name's not Rose in here. It's Di."

Breasts. Her breasts were bare and tight against his chest and he wanted more. It was a bit embarrassing how easily he was being drawn into her seduction. He knew what she was doing, and yet he couldn't find it in him to do more than hold her to him. And he wanted more. Bare legs and back and shoulders and knees, hips and elbows and ankles please.

Tearing her mouth from his, she fumbled with his tie, and somehow, that snapped him out of his haze. "I just came to--"

"Talk," she scoffed, sliding a hand down between them, cupping his crotch with nimble fingers. "Yeah, of course you did. Don't wimp out on me now, Charles." Leaning down to nip at his ear and jaw, she cupped him tighter, whispering huskily, "Do I know you? Did we meet more than once?" Biting his ear, forcing a shudder to go through him, she sucked the flesh into her mouth. "Did you watch me from afar? Fantasize about me? Fantasize about shagging the boss' daughter?"

"I--" he shuddered again, arching his hips up into her, seeking, seeking, seeking that friction that he needed so badly, that friction that she kept teasing him with. "I saw you in the halls," he murmured, pleased with himself for his honesty. "Wanted you. Always wanted you." Gasping when she pushed down onto his lap, he fumbled with his tie and jacket.

He'd wanted to wait until they were reacquainted and back on the TARDIS, but he couldn't, not with her moving on him like she was, grinding on his lap. His hands were full of her flesh. Her hair was brushing his fingers, tickling them while she kissed him.

This was what he'd wanted from her for so long. And now here it was at his fingertips.

She helped him shove his jacket off, then pulled at his tie, fingers slipping beneath the loose knot. "Can I take off the blindfold now... Charlie?"

A rush of breath escaped him as he tore his mouth from hers, halting her hands as they moved up to the black mask. "No." Mouth centimeters from hers, he stole a kiss and then another. "Leave it on."

"So, I do know you," she snickered. "Or you like a bit of kink with your freak."

He went still beneath her. "Stop that," he told her, grabbing her cheeks in his hands, threading his fingers into the strands of her hair. "Stop saying that. It's nothing like that."

Hand dropping between them again, she cupped his hardening erection, lips curving up slyly. "No? Feels like it to me." But then she pulled away suddenly, hands leaving him. His cock felt cold and empty without her fingers there, rubbing him. She crossed her wrists in front of her. "I've got restraints. D'you want to use them?"

There, in the back of his mind, he could see her tied to the bed, barely covered in lingerie, hair spread on the pillows, legs squeezing together as she shifted restlessly, begging him with her eyes and her luscious lips for him to take her. Shaking that image away, he forced his body to calm down, to slow his arousal.

The tightness in his cock lessened a bit. Though he was no less physically aroused, he had better control over it now.

"I'm only here because of you, Rose. I-- care about you." Scoffing silently to himself, he rethreaded his fingers in her hair. He wasn't about to tell her that he loved her while she was blindfolded and had no idea who he was. He'd save that for when he could look her in the eye and they weren't pawing at one another.

And, later, when things were solid between them--he nearly groaned at the thought of how solid he already was--they'd use her restraints. And that lingerie in his mind, he'd have to buy her some of that. A couple dozen of them in a rainbow of colors.

Though she was the one blindfolded, she took him by surprise when she pushed against his chest, sending him backward onto the bed. Her hands tore at his shirt, ripping it, sending the buttons flying. Shoving the ends of his shirt aside, she ran her hands down his chest, stopping with handfuls of his t-shirt. "D'you like it when I take charge, Charles?"

Her lips quirked up at the same time as his, and he knew she was thinking of that night he'd flipped the telly to an American show that they'd then spent days watching.

But her smile was gone a lot more quickly than he liked, and she was back to the seductress in no time flat. "You have a lot of clothes on..." she leant down and whispered just above his mouth, "does the thought of me undressing you get you hard?" Licking her lips, she lowered her voice even more. "Do you want me to suck you off? Or ride you?"

Rocking against him, she braced her hands on his stomach.

"You're getting hard, Charles."

Hard, he thought. Oh, definitely that. His mind had gone to so many nice places with her questions and the way she was moving on him, that he was slow to answer.

She grew impatient.

Sliding her hands under his t-shirt, she scraped her nails down his sensitive skin, making his stomach muscles jump. Drawing the thin cotton up with her hands, she exposed his chest to the cooler air, then quickly leant down and pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along his nipples and abdomen.

"Ah," he gasped, feeling a distinctly pleasant sensation go straight to his cock. Holding her hips, he bucked up into her, seeking friction for his straining erection.

Arousing a Time Lord wasn't like arousing a human male. Or many other species in the universe. It took a lot more direct stimulation, and Rose seemed to know exactly how to do it.

She had no idea though, he was sure of that. Because if she did, that'd mean several things that he wasn't ready to entertain at the moment. Or concentrate on. So he went with her being clueless about it and just getting lucky.

Snickering to himself, he thought, well, they were both getting lucky really.

And he was definitely aroused. Although not as much as he could be, and she seemed to think it her job to-- oh.

Of course it was her job.

And there was that anger and jealousy boiling up inside of him again. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he rolled them over, landing square on top of her.

She smirked and arched up into him, hands pushing his shirt off. Bare-chested now, he dove down for a kiss, another hot, fast, needy kiss, all lips and teeth and tongues, gasping breaths and-- crackers! Nails scraped down his back, forcing him to press against her, seeking relief from the wonderful stinging pain.

Skin met skin and Rose suddenly went still, though it was only for a moment.

Then she was moving again, leg lifting up between his, pressing against his cock, rubbing it, causing so many sensations to go through him that he was suddenly certain he wouldn't be able to last long enough to see to her.

That wasn't an option tonight. Though he'd really only come here to talk to her, to find out if she was happy with the way her life had turned out, it'd very much become something else.

A seduction by her, wanting to be on more even footing with a situation that she wasn't comfortable with.

Need and desperation for him, because he suddenly felt like he'd lose her for good if he didn't get through to her now.

Tearing his mouth from hers, ignoring his own groan of disappointment, he kissed his way down her jaw, putting his hands to work on her breasts; her beautifully rounded mounds of flesh, nipples hardening before his eyes, under his hands, tightening and puckering, inviting his mouth to taste them. Suck on them.

Kissing hungrily down her neck and shoulder, he cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples as his mouth slid hot, wet kisses along her warm, skin. His tongue flicked out, tasting her flesh, tasting Rose.

This wasn't the first time.

There'd been several kisses-with-a-reason between him and Rose before. Though he'd been so busy saving her life with the first one, he still remembered her taste. The second one was much more entrenched in his mind, though he'd known, even at that early stage, that something was wrong with her. The memory of those flavors were mere shadows though compared to actually kissing her, licking and sucking and tasting her flesh.

His body was quickly becoming overwhelmed by sensation; by Rose.

Pulling back, adjusting himself with a quick hand, he pushed her leg from between his and settled down between hers.

Her hands tightened on his back, hips arching up against him. Playing the part?

He could smell her arousal, but it was so faint, just a hint, a light, teasing scent. Most of her actions were for show, for him. Well, not any longer.

Kissing the top of one breast, he cupped the other, pinching the nipple as he lightly bit the other. Her hips shot up, and he grinned. Occupying himself with her breasts for a bit, he reached down between them and popped the button on her slacks, sliding his fingers down a bit, just to tease.

Her stomach muscles tightened as she sucked in a breath.

Licking her nipple, he roughly cupped her other breast as he undid the zip, parting the sides of her trousers, exposing her flat tummy even more, and showing him that she wasn't wearing any knickers. He didn't stop to ponder that though. It'd only anger him, maybe even cool his ardor, and he didn't want that to happen.

Yanking on her trousers, he kissed down her stomach.

"Thought you just wanted to talk?" she taunted, lifting her hips so that he could pull her trousers down her legs.

"You thought a lot of things," he told her, tossing the material in his hands to the floor.

"Hm," she said neutrally, neither agreeing, nor disagreeing. "Proving me wrong then, Charles?"

He went still, eyes darting to her face. He hated that name now, didn't want to be called it anymore, but he couldn't tell her to call him the Doctor either, there'd be no way to explain that away.

Then a thought occurred to him.

Crawling up her body, he kissed her again, unable to resist her lips now that he could have them. Her hands fumbled with his trousers and he allowed her to unbutton them and undo the zip before halting her. Pulling away from her mouth, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. "Rose," he whispered, wanting nothing more than to hear her say his name in response, but knowing that wouldn't happen.

Unless.

"Tell me what you want," he breathed, feeling her body shift restlessly under his, though not in arousal. Probably not. Yet.

"You," she answered immediately, taking his mouth again, forcing him to pull free of her.

Cupping her cheeks in his palms, he held her still, gazing at her tenderly. "No, you don't. You don't even know who I am." Pressing a soft kiss to her lips, he took a deep breath and gambled on something with higher stakes than he liked. "I told you, I'm here for you. All I want is you, but I want you to be happy too."

She squirmed under him again, hot breath bursting over his face. "Then stop talking and fuck me."

He didn't move, didn't give in to her. "What do you want, Rose?" Closing his eyes, he drew in a silent, shuddering breath. "_Who_ do you want? Anyone you want to imagine me being, play pretend, I don't care, so long as that person is the one you want."

She went still beneath him. "People come to _me_ to live out a fantasy, not the other way around."

Sliding a hand down her hip, he caressed the skin, moving lower and lower with his mouth. "But you _are_ my fantasy, Rose. I don't need to live out mine because I've got it right here." Kissing her stomach lightly, he felt her draw in a breath and had the hope that she was enjoying his touches, not just pretending. "D'you have a boyfriend?" he asked casually, trying to get her talking and thinking about it, but then it suddenly occurred to him that she just might have.

That it was entirely possible that she had a boyfriend or lover waiting for her at home.

Body stilling, he waited for her answer.

"Just fuck me, Charles." There was annoyance and frustration in her voice and he felt her hands drop down again, cupping him, rubbing him hard, trying to arouse him to the point where he'd do as she said and just fuck her.

Anger shot through him. He grabbed her hand and tossed it from him. "Don't call me that."

One side of her mouth turned up. "Your name's not Charles," she said in sudden understanding, rising from the bed. She wrapped one hand behind his neck, the other moving back to his cock, slipping into the open area between the zip of his trousers to grab him tight. Her warm fingers wrapped around his hard flesh, making his cock twitch, making his hips buck up into her grip, making him gasp and drop his head back.

"No." The word was a denial on so many counts. Stilling her hand, he shuddered when she scraped her nails down his neck and shoulders. Moving quickly down her body, knowing the best way to get her to agree was to give her an incentive, he trailed a path of open-mouthed kisses to her belly and then spread her legs.

Her skin was warm and smooth beneath his lips, fluttering just a bit when he slid his tongue along her thigh.

"Is there someone you want, Rose? Someone you want more than anyone else?" Pressing kisses to her leg, he moved lower.

She'd gone a bit still and he wondered if he'd lost her interest, or peaked it.

Sliding his tongue along her knee, he glanced up to find her head tipped back, teeth gritted, hands fisted in the sheets. He continued quietly, "Someone you want to kiss you like this?" Mouthing her calf, he dug his fingers into her thighs.

She sucked in a breath.

Taking his time, he trailed kisses and caresses down one leg, stopping to lift her ankle to his mouth before moving to the other. He nipped and tongued and teased her calf until he got to her thigh. Inhaling deeply, head between her legs, he tilted his head to the side, hair brushing her legs, feeling her draw in another breath, hearing her moan. Darting his eyes up to her face again, he realized she was aroused.

Definitely aroused. And he wondered suddenly who she was fantasizing about.

He wanted it to be him of course, but couldn't be sure, not anymore. It'd been three years for her, and she wasn't giving up her secrets easily.

Deciding he needed to up the incentive a bit more, he moved closer to her, blowing on her hot flesh before sliding his tongue into her moist folds, forcing a moan to spill from his lips.

The taste!

It burst onto his tongue with a flavor he'd never experienced before, and he loved it. Loved new things to begin with, exploring new places, and his mouth was no different. This body was more sensitive than most of his other ones and right now, it was in heaven.

He worked his tongue deep inside her, seeking out all her flavors, all her textures, all the moisture it could find. And Rose seemed to like it. As he bit lightly on her clit, he uncurled one hand from her thigh and settled it on her stomach, sliding it higher to pinch her nipples.

Her hips shot up off the bed, up into his mouth, and more pleasure and heat and flavor washed through him. His tongue slid around her clit, that small nub of pleasure, filled to the brim with nerves that shot straight through her. And again, she moaned, and his mouth was flooded with flavor.

And he wanted more.

He wanted it all, every laste drop. Lapping it up like an eager puppy, he pressed closer, humming in delight.

Rose reacted immediately, hips bucking into his mouth, hand grabbing his, threading their fingers together, giving him hope. A few low, breathless sounds escaped her, not words as such, more just noises of pleasure. He repeated the action and she was no less reactionary this time.

And.

His eyes darted to her face, sure he'd heard her wrong. Certain his ears hadn't caught her whispered, "Doctor," certain the name, whispered so low that she didn't think 'Charles' would be able to hear, had to be wishful thinking. But he didn't say anything because he didn't want to scare her into not doing it again. So he pretended he hadn't heard, and continued his assault on her folds, wrapping his tongue around her clit and sucking.

Oh, she tasted gorgeous, all salty, and... slightly bitter with a hint of sweetness buried beneath it all. He felt like he had a never-ending jar of Rose before him and plunged his tongue in deeper.

Hand on her thigh, he widened her legs a bit, opening her folds to him more fully, but wasn't satisfied with just that. He slid a finger into her as well. Felt her legs pressing closer to his head. Not tightening against him, but holding still just enough for his hair to tickle the insides of her thighs and he realized then that that was part of her fantasy.

And he grinned, sucking harder on her clit.

He was now 78% sure that she was imagining he was... well, himself.

Opening his mouth to encourage her, he realized that it might just ruin it for her with his voice deeper and thicker than what she'd want to hear, so he snapped it shut again and concentrated on making her come. His cock was throbbing, aching, getting a little friction from the bed beneath him, but all he wanted was to be inside Rose.

Her hair, loosening from the holder she had it in, was beginning to fall down around her face, spreading out on the pillow as he'd wanted. Her mouth alternately pressed tight or parted with breathless gasps.

She was so beautiful, so flushed and aroused.

His eyes stayed on her as he nipped and teased and sucked her hot, moist flesh. Mouth covered in her glistening juices, he feasted on her until she was grabbing his head, fingers curling in his hair, pulling the strands, holding him exactly where she wanted him.

And the sounds she made!

He was certain they were real mews of pleasure, real cries, halted, partially-formed, before being released once again from between her parted lips, shaped around gasps and pants.

Her voice was climbing higher, coming out harsher, making him want to climb up her body, release his cock, and plunge it deep inside her, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, never stopping until they were both screaming in pleasure. Both coming so hard it'd take hours to move again.

And then do it all over again.

But his pleasure would come after hers tonight. Maybe later he'd be less generous, but not tonight.

Rose arched up into his mouth again, seeking more of his tongue, muscles clenching tighter on his finger. He added another, and thrust them into her, murmuring, "Come for me. Show me how beautiful, how utterly gorgeous, you are, Rose Tyler."

She went still for a moment, and he could've kicked himself for ruining her fantasy, but she only gripped his hair tighter, and grunted, pressing down on his mouth, seeking release.

So desperate now that she didn't care anymore who he was? Or so far gone that he couldn't ruin the fantasy?

Neither. She turned her head to the side, hiding her face, biting her lip as he thrust his fingers faster, flicking his tongue against her clit. Her hips wouldn't stay still, muscled legs arching her higher and higher, knocking off his rhythm, making his tongue slip lower, and creating more frustration for her.

Holding her still with his free hand, he hooked his arm around her thigh, moving faster, deeper, plunging his tongue into her and swallowing down the taste, the flavor. Pressing his cock into the mattress for a little bit of friction, he forced himself to ignore his own needs and concentrate on hers. She was close, so close to coming.

He wanted to see it, wanted to watch her as she lost control, wanted to feel it as she clenched around him uncontrollably. Taste it as she flooded his mouth.

A groan escaped him and he pulled back a little, giving himself room to thrust his fingers deeper, faster, harder.

Her lips moved, forcing sounds past them, and he could've sworn he heard his name again, but she clenched her teeth tighter, straining, reaching for that relief of release. Fleet planted on either side of him, she bucked up, rocking into him despite his tight hold on her.

"Don't hold back," he whispered, smoothing his hand down her stomach briefly before she reached down and took it, holding on for dear life, nearly crushing his fingers.

Then she exploded in a display of pleasure, hand tightening around his, arm bracing her off the bed along with her feet, pressing her as high as she could and still keep his mouth on her. His tongue, such a busy little thing, buried itself deep inside her folds, lapping up the flavors and the attention her clenching muscles were giving it.

Strangled sounds left her lips as she went still, every muscle in her body going taut for a few breathless moments. Then, gasping for breath, panting, she dropped to the bed, his name on her lips.

Over and over again, while his fingers teased her fluttering, clenching channel, she whispered his name like a prayer.

Satisfaction warmed him at the desperate sound of her voice wrapping around his name.

She relaxed onto the bed, settling back, seeming to only then realize that she was still gripping his hand. A feeling of loss swept through him when she released him, cooler air hitting his sweat-slickened palm, warmed by her touch.

Wrapping it around her thigh again, he watched her struggle for breath, watched the pleasure simmer in her.

Breathing heavily, she pushed onto her elbows, hair wild, skin flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Licking her lips--and he wasn't sure if it was all for show, or if she needed an extra moment to gather herself--she husked out her next words, and they made his stomach tighten and his cock jump eagerly. "Want to fuck my mouth now?" She paused and then purposely added, "Charles."

His anger and frustration jumped to the fore again, but this time, he used them to fuel his desire. Releasing her thigh, sliding his fingers free, he knelt between her legs and shoved his trousers down over his hips along with his pants. It was quick work to remove them and toss them aside.

Rose tilted her head to the side. Listening to the rustle of cloth, feeling the bed dip down, wondering, imagining what he was doing? Guessing, judging by the smirk lifting one corner of her mouth.

Crawling up her body, delighting in the surprised look on her face, he pushed her back. "Not your mouth," he leant down to tell her, taking his cock in hand and stroking it, finally able to take pleasure for himself, take pleasure from more than just seeing to hers. A groan slipped past his lips as his cool fingers slid up and down his hard flesh. First loosely, then with a quick, tight grip. "Touch me, Rose," he begged, and he didn't care anymore that he sounded desperate.

Dragging in a breath, he caught and held it as he caught and held her hand.

Placing it on his cock with a hiss, he bent back a bit, bracing himself with a hand to the bed behind him. Her fingers, hot--so hot and moist--took control of him, of the situation, of his body, teaching him a few things about himself in the process.

One, he really liked Rose touching him. His hips bucked forward with every stroke of her wonderful, wonderful hand.

Two, he was an impatient man when it came to sex. Well, while her hands were on him anyway.

She halted her ministrations and he nearly cried in frustration, but she was only adjusting her position on the bed, lying down for better control of her hand and-- ah... ah! Mouth. Oh, crackers!

How was this not the first thing he'd wanted after making her come? How was it that they'd never done this before? Good gravy, it should be illegal the way she swirled her tongue around him.

Had it felt this fantastic and wonderful for her, with his mouth on her? he wondered, grabbing her hair and holding tight. Her hand chased her mouth up his length and then back again, fingers squeezing and twisting while her lips pressed and sucked.

"Should've done this-- oh! Oh!--ages ago," he lamented, losing control and thrusting into her mouth. Just once.

She pressed her free hand to his hip and held him still, popping him free of her mouth. "Maybe we should've," she agreed, having no idea how much he wanted to rip her mask off. How much guilt went through him.

How much he felt like the lowest amoeba just then, because she had no idea who he was.

He clenched his hands into fists before remembering he was grasping her hair. Dropping the strands as she stroked him, he pushed her backward onto the bed. "I'm sorry, I can't wait any longer." Leaning over her, he grasped his cock, kissed her hard, and then thrust inside her warm, welcoming body, going perfectly still for fear of coming right then and there. And with the way her muscles fluttered and clenched around him, he thought she might be trying to make him. Her kiss was just as hard as his, giving nothing, but taking everything, forcing him to start moving, to stroke inside her hot, wet channel.

But then, after the first stroke, he couldn't stop, as he'd wanted to do, to regain control.

Bracing his arms on either side of her head, he drove into her, hard and fast. The feel of her surrounding him was like heaven and a comfy chair.

Pleasure spiraled in him, cock lapping up every bit of sensation. Thrusting harder, feeling her tightening around him, he didn't stop to tease her body, didn't stop to kiss her, just moved, stroking in a furious rhythm, seeking his own release, wanting so badly to come.

Desperately wanting to come. Inside Rose Tyler.

And that thought, like no other, had him slowing his pace, slowing to brace himself on one arm so he could slide his other hand to her neck, higher to her cheek, cupping it, holding her still for a kiss, clumsy and awkward, but involved.

She didn't smirk and call him a pansy, as he half expected her to, just kissed him back, as hard as he kissed her, lips and mouth following his when he drew back a ways to adjust his position. She adjusted hers as well, slipping her legs up beside his hips, forcing him deeper.

Swallowing thickly, beginning to lose control again, he slowed the bucking of his hips and slid his hand down to her clit. Rubbing quickly, with no time to waste building her up again slowly, he thrust his cock deep inside her and went still, concentrating solely on her.

"Don't worry about me," she moaned, the thickness of her voice and the movement of her hips belying her words. Her hands scraped down his back in stinging rivulets of pleasure, legs lifting to wrap around his waist.

Reaching down to secure them better, to make them tighter, he slipped in even deeper and his tight rein of control snapped.

With one, last ditch effort, he kissed her, biting her lip on accident, bruising it, knocking their teeth together. But she didn't draw away, just raised both hands to the back of his head and held him there, kissing him with abandon.

His hand dropped to the bed and he began moving in her again, fast, furiously driving his cock into her, and she rose up to meet his every thrust, not letting up on his mouth, distracting him with her tongue and lips. She was making delicious sounds of pleasure, grunting and gasping.

Nothing artificial in them at all. In fact, he knew she was enjoying herself, knew, though she'd tried to pretend for a while that he didn't affect her, that she was extremely aroused.

That thought alone nearly made him come, but he managed to hold back, groan of frustration on his lips. Her heels dug into his lower back and he was sure it was a feeling he'd never forget, would want all the time now that he'd had it.

But the warm, moist flesh surrounding his cock was taking priority. She was squeezing him so hard, so tightly.

So deliciously.

And he realized that, though she was trying to make him come quickly, she was also seeking her own release, torn about what to do. Well, he'd make the decision for her.

Bracing himself on one arm, he frantically rubbed her clit again, trying, hoping, praying she'd come before him. He wanted to be in her when she did, wanted to feel her body's uncontrollable sensations flow through his cock this time. Just the thought of it was making it hard to hold on, but he managed. Just barely.

Her muscles tightened around him unexpectedly and a gasping, breathless sound slipped from her throat, fingers clenching on his head, but pulling away from his mouth. "D--" she began, but quickly cut herself off.

Continuing to drive into her, he encouraged, "Go on, say his name." Harder. "Please, Rose." He was practically begging now. "Say his--"

"Doctor," she grunted out. And then again as her orgasm washed over her.

His name, coming from her lips, in that throaty voice he loved as she clenched around him uncontrollably, just as he'd wanted, made him lose what little control he'd been hanging on to. He pounded into her, driving hard into her warm, slick folds, with short strokes. Her muscles grasped him so tightly, with so much friction that he couldn't hold back any longer.

His balls, slapping wetly against her arse, began to draw up, and his cock twitched just before he buried himself in her one last time, hips bucking hard into hers. Wave after wave of spasming relief shot from his cock, into her. For moments, he was suspended above her, body shaking. Her muscles held him firmly, clenching on him, milking him of every last drop as she caressed his back, smoothing her hands down it, legs still wrapped firmly around his waist.

She seemed nearly as affected as he, almost as breathless, and he was sure it was real. Not faked. Hands clenching in the sheets beneath them, he dropped on top of her, holding back most of his weight. Instead of loosening from around him immediately, as he'd thought she would, she stayed wrapped around him and even let him lie on her and slide his hands beneath her back to hold her to him.

Forehead resting on hers, letting her breath ghost over his face a few times, he pressed light kisses to her lips.

Kissing Rose wasn't just a press of skin to skin. It wasn't just a pleasant sensation, it was a feeling of home, and a flavor of love.

Oh, he was definitely lost.

Chuckling to himself, he kissed her again as his body began to relax. Her lips opened and she kissed back lazily, nipping at his lower lip, sliding her tongue along his, then retreating. Trailing soft, lazy kisses down her jaw to her neck, he rolled off of her, taking her with him so that she landed half on him. She sighed and settled against him, hair tickling his chest, fingers playing over his abdomen.

Making sure she could only hear one of his hearts from her position, he breathed deep.

Right now, in this very moment, life was perfect.

And it would stay that way, so long as he didn't take off her blindfold. He could get dressed, he thought, staring at the plain ceiling above him, examining the cracks absently as he considered his options. Leave without telling her who he was. Just walk out of the room and leave her curious about her strange client from Torchwood.

He could meet her later in the week then, on the street, pretend he'd only just arrived. Pretend he had no knowledge of how she sounded when she came, that he didn't know the feel of her skin, the warmth of her touch, the taste of her kiss.

The edges of the lace mask gently brushed his chest when she pressed her cheek into him, getting comfortable. "Gonna tell me your real name, Charles?"

Her voice was soft and relaxed and each word made him more tense, each second that passed made him want to leave, to get in the TARDIS, and stop himself from ever coming here, because there was no way to avoid the inevitable now.

He'd come to her, disguised his voice and told her countless lies amongst a few truths. Tricked her into sleeping with him. He really didn't think she'd jump into his arms and thank him.

Although, that was possibility number twenty-one.

Fingers drifting higher to play with his chest hair, she sighed. "Okay. No names. Guess that means _this_," she tapped the edge of the black cloth covering her eyes, then dropped her hand back to his chest to resume its playful caresses, "stays put."

Smoothing his hand down her hair, freeing it from its holder, he spread the silky strands out around her shoulders, arranging them across his chest.

She reached up, slipping a lock behind her ear. Tucking his chin to his chest, staring down at her, he tried to take it all in; her hair, slipping free from her ear already, her warm, flushed skin against his own. Her hand on his chest, fingers threading lightly through the hair there, nails gently scraping against his skin.

Her breathing, slowing as the adrenalin left her body.

This, right here, right now, could be the last time he ever saw her again. But he was happy because he'd got to make love to her once, got to make her come, made her feel the intense pleasure he felt just being around her. Twice.

Knew now what it felt like to kiss her and hold her. To taste her.

Pressing his lips firmly to the top of her head, he tightened his arms around her. "I'm sorry," he whispered earnestly, closing his eyes and combing a lock of hair back from her face. "I'm so sorry."

Her whole body tightened on him, hand halting, curling into a fist. Her breathing stopped, then quickly resumed again, and he sighed at the words he'd inadvertently let slip. "What--" she began, voice so tight, she barely got the word out. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "What are you sorry about?"

He imagined he heard dread in her voice. Imagined there was accusation there as well, though he knew he was reading more into it than was actually there. Knew that, until he let her see him and she knew for sure, that he was overreacting.

Fingers playing along the edges of her blindfold, he took a deep breath, held it, then slipped the mask from her eyes. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach, dropping his hearts to the level of his abdomen.

This was it, the moment of truth.

His hearts were pounding so hard it put his earlier arousal to shame. If she didn't accept him back into her life, didn't want to be with him anymore because he'd ruined things between them... if she didn't want to travel with him anymore, he vowed at that moment to return to the hotel before his younger self got here and tell her who he was.

Dipping his head down, he admitted to himself that he wouldn't do that, couldn't take the easy way out.

Eyes on Rose, he watched and waited, prayed to no deity, no gods, just the universe itself. Prayed that it give him a break just this once and let him have his happy ending.

She didn't move, not a single muscle. Her eyes were squeezed shut, fingers still curled into fists. Back ramrod straight, she stared across the room at the wall behind closed lids. "Put it back."

Frowning, he blinked at her. That wasn't the response he'd been expecting. At all. It wasn't even on the List of Possible Reactions. Pushing up on his elbows, her stared at her. "But--"

"I don't..." she sighed explosively, loosening her stiff posture a bit. "It'll ruin the fant-- you told me to imagine you were someone else, and I did, and I'm sorry, but I don't think I want to know."

Adding her reaction the List, formerly made up of only twenty-five, now at twenty-six, he sat up and unwrapped his arms from around her, hands on her upper arms as he faced her, lowering his face to her level, wishing she'd open her eyes and look at him. "Oh, Rose Tyler... just open your eyes and see."

Shaking her head, she sat up and drew the covers to her chest, eyes still tightly closed. "I can't."

Seeing no alternative, he bent over the edge of the bed and grabbed his discarded jacket. Digging deep into the pocket, he pulled his sonic screwdriver free, palming the familiar tool, new since Martha and the moon, but so familiar even from then. They'd already been through so much together.

His eternal companion.

Sliding his thumb over the button, he glanced back at Rose, still stubbornly sitting with eyes closed. This was it. He was about to find out for good, no take backs after this.

For a moment, he considered dressing first, but didn't want an unfair advantage over her. Holding the screwdriver to his throat, he raised his eyes to her face.

His hearts ached at the sight. She was sitting on the bed, a sheet of creamy silk covering her body, legs drawn up to her chest, wild hair flowing down her back, a few locks of it curling down in front. She looked mutinous. And still, she was his fantasy come true. As of just a few minutes ago, she was his lover as well. Would always be his best mate. The owner of his hearts. And she had no idea.

It wasn't fair of him.

Holding a hand to her cheek, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "He's the luckiest man in the universe," he told her truthfully, feeling his chest swell with love.

Shrugging, slow smile slipping up her lips, she rested her chin on her knees. "Doesn't matter. He's gone now. Forever."

Sliding his hand down her cheek, thumb brushing over her lips, he whispered, "Luckiest man in two universes," and dropped his hand as her head shot up, brows dipping down, frown forming on her lips.

He pressed the button on the sonic screwdriver and saw her lips part in surprise at the whirring noise it made. Wishing he could take the hurt from her as easily as he'd fixed his voice, he reached out to touch her, but drew his hand back before making contact. "Rose--"

Drawing in a shaky breath at the sound of his voice, she shook her head and pulled back as if she'd sensed his need to touch her. "No."

It was a simple denial, but was it just of his identity, or of the entire situation?

Maybe of them?

"No," she repeated more forcefully, shoving away from him and climbing from the bed, standing with her back to him. She must've opened her eyes, because she bent down, picking up his trousers from the floor amid the remains of his suit. "It's not you," she said forcefully, though it sounded like a lie. "It's not-- you're Torchwood, you're here, playing-- you read my file, you know about... _him_."

"No, Rose. It's really me." He quickly climbed from the bed, and she went still as he stood beside her, wanting, but afraid, to touch her now.

Her hands rose, covering her ears. "Stop it! Just stop it!" But then laughter burst from her lips. "Oh, my god. You resonated your throat."

"I--" he began, then snickered lightly, grin sliding up his lips. "Well, yeah, guess I did. Easier than concrete."

Instead of laughter or chuckles in response, there was silence and he felt his smile fade, felt his hearts drop even further. But it was her words that hurt the most.

"Get out."

Response number three just jumped up to number one.

Settling his hand on her shoulder, he tried to brush a few strands of her hair behind her back so he could see her face better, but she shrank back, taking a large step away from him. "Rose--"

"I said get out," she nearly shouted, turning to face him, eyes moving over his face, taking him in, a quick scan of his features, confirming it really was him, then moving to the bed. When he didn't move, she grabbed her blouse from the foot of the bed, pulled it on and started searching for her trousers. "Fine, if you won't leave, I will."

He couldn't-- didn't want to let her leave him like this. Without explanations, without reasons. Without allowing him to show her how much she meant to him. To tell her that his life since losing her had been full and eventful, but empty. Without her.

Grabbing his trousers from where she'd dropped them to the floor, he stepped into them and did up the zip, about to button them when she slid into her own and stalked past him. He reached out and grabbed her arm, and she spun around, drew her fist back and punched him in the jaw, a little off base, just grazing him, but it hurt.

More than just physically.

"You bloody bastard!" she shouted, her own jaw clenched tight. "You tricked me. You made me believe-- I didn't even get a choice in the matter." Tears formed in her eyes, and her lip began to tremble. She rubbed her fist, knuckles probably aching from the blow. Her face fell, and her voice shook, "You said it was impossible."

Rubbing his hand over his aching jaw, moving it from side to side, he sighed and tried to close the distance between them, but she stepped back again, so he busied himself with finding his shirt instead. It was there on the floor, beneath him. Grabbing it up, he threw it on, but didn't bother buttoning it. "It _was_ impossible." Scratching his head, he watched her for a few moments as she fidgeted with the button and zip of her own trousers. "Still is, mostly. Well, for anyone but me."

That didn't even earn him a twitch of her lips. She merely crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

"I came back for you," he told her, imploring her to believe him, to understand. But he also knew that she had every right to be upset. He'd tricked her, just like she'd said. Came here under false pretenses. "I only wanted to talk," he murmured, wondering where it'd all gone so wrong.

She dropped her arms and combed her fingers through her hair, impatiently tucking the long strands behind her ears. "Yeah, I can see that." Her voice, he realized, was slipping back into her old accent, and it pleased him. Made him feel like Rose was retuning to him. She closed her eyes for a moment, then snapped them open again and swallowed thickly. "So, what? You found out... what I am now, and decided, 'eh, might as well shag her' yeah?"

"No," he snapped, getting angry now himself. Yes, the thought had certainly occurred to him, but not because of her profession. That'd only enhanced his own imaginings of having her, like a cherry on top of a sundae, seeing her unclothed and... that was a lie.

He had thought exactly what she was accusing him of.

Turning from him, she crossed the last few steps to the door and unlocked it, yanking it open. "Leave."

"You don't mean that," he said with absolute certainty, sticking his hands in his pockets, feeling on firmer ground than he had since entering the room. She might be angry with him, but she wouldn't really kick him out.

Her eyes narrowed and she stormed across the room, scooped up his clothes and shoved them at him, then grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the door. "Don't I?"

Not truly believing she'd force him out, he was left gaping at a closed door when she shoved him out into the hall and slammed the door shut in his face.

One of his Chucks dropped from his bundle, hitting his toe. "Ow!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Sub Rosa (4/4)  
**Author:** sinecure  
**Character/Pairing:** Ten/Rose  
**Rating:** Adult (M)  
**Genre:** Angst, drama, hurt/comfort, smut  
**Summary:** After Doomsday, Rose is living in Pete's World, but things aren't as great as the Doctor had hoped for her or her family.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Doctor Who.  
**Author's Notes:** Thanks to JennyLD for the beta. (This was posted most everywhere else a year ago for the TARDIS Big Bang. Somehow, I forgot to post it here.)

* * *

With the sound of the slamming door still rattling in the frame and ringing in her ears, Rose pressed her back to the wall beside it, letting out the breath she felt like she'd been holding forever. Since first hearing those familiar words fall from his lips.

Not Charles D'Raist. Not a Torchwood employee. The Doctor.

Fisting her hands into her eyes, she tried to dam the tears, tried to will them away, even tried to bargain with herself that she could cry later, when she wasn't so furious and... ashamed.

"Oh, god," she mumbled, feeling nausea rise in her. "I shagged the Doctor."

But immediately on the heels of that thought, she shook her head. She hadn't shagged the Doctor, she'd fucked him, had his cock in her mouth.

Holding her hand to her head, she squeezed her eyes tight. His mouth had-- and his fingers. "Oh, god."

The voice had been wrong--too deep and low-- but the body! It'd been just right, perfect enough for her to give in and allow herself to fantasize about another man while with a client. And that was-- no, that wasn't what was so wrong, so embarrassing, it was that she'd fallen so deeply into the fantasy--she nearly laughed at the irony--that she'd called out his name while with someone else.

And, no matter how much a client assured her that he didn't mind, she'd broken the cardinal rule: make it all about the client.

For two years, she'd been able to keep herself under control, but she'd failed miserably this time, and it didn't matter if he hadn't minded. Or even that he'd insisted. All that mattered was that she'd been unprofessional.

Fighting against a sob, she slid down the wall, legs pressed tight against her chest.

Embarrassment mixed with shame, and she hid her face in her knees. The Doctor. Here. Not just here, but... _here_. In her room, in her bed. In her body!

Her life had been fine. Just fine. Finally, after two years of living with the loss and grief over losing her mum and Tony, finally, after three years of living with the loss and grief over losing _him_, finally, she'd said goodbye.

But not just that; she was also finally making an effort to have a life of sorts in her adopted universe.

Then he'd come along, hid who he was, disguised his voice, forced her to think of him again. Forced her to remember what he felt like in so many ways, because, every touch of 'Charles' reminded her of the Doctor, and she just hadn't been able to figure out why.

Not until those stupid words he was always saying. Was he really sorry? Did he even know what it meant to be sorry anymore?

Her heart, pounding in her chest, felt like it was trying to escape, to leave her behind and chase after the man it belonged to. "Doctor," she whispered mournfully, and then it hit her.

He was _here_!

He'd come for her--she snickered a little hysterically at that--made it through the void, crossed an entire universe to find her, and she'd thrown him out! He'd used her? Maybe. Wanted her? Definitely. And he'd gone about it in a completely wrong way, but she still loved him, still wanted to travel with him.

So, he'd made a mistake, done a stupid thing, but he'd forgiven her plenty. Her father immediately came to mind and a snarl left her lips.

Her proper father, not the Pete from this world.

Hands scrabbling at the wall, she pushed to her feet and yanked the hotel room door open, rushed out and quickly looked down the expanse of brightly lit hall to her right--empty--then to her left. Her heart sank at the sight of the other empty hallway. He was gone. She'd thrown him out, he'd left, and now he was gone from her life, yet again. Probably for good this time.

The lift dinged down the hall, giving her a moment of hope, but it was an old woman who stepped out.

Rose went back into the room.

Pulling the door shut with a click that reverberated through her, she turned the lock and leaned back against the door with a sob. A moment later, she heard the sound of the universe righting itself and saw it taking the shape of a blue police box in the corner.

Shame swept through her again.

The Doctor knew now what she was and what she did. Though she wasn't ashamed of being a call girl, having someone from her past, someone who'd known her before all of this, someone who'd made her a better person know what she was doing now, was too much for her.

Mickey's reaction had been bad enough. But the Doctor.

Hurrying into the bathroom before the TARDIS had fully formed, she closed and locked the door behind her.

Hiding from him.

The thought of facing him again this soon, had her heart pounding, her chest feeling tight. She darted her eyes around the bathroom, but there was no other way out. Except one. She stripped naked, knowing he would leave her alone for a while if she were in here, then turned on the faucets and climbed into the shower.

She was ecstatic to see him again, glad he hadn't left without a word, but now she was faced with some hard decisions and tough choices.

The spray of the hot water on her face, through her hair, sliding down her body, felt nice and cleansing. It was only after she soaped up that she realized that tears were flowing down her cheeks. A sob left her at the realization that she'd screwed things up rather spectacularly this time.

She'd _hit_ him!

Her whole hand ached and throbbed. Cradling it to her chest, giving up on trying to wash herself, she let the tears and the shame flow through her. Why'd he show up here?

Why couldn't he have just popped into her flat and asked her if she fancied the trip of a lifetime?

Even if he'd known what she did, that she had sex for a living, even then, it wouldn't have been nearly as bad as this. Coming to her, gawking at the freak she'd become-- no!

The freak he thought her to be.

She was proud of herself, proud of her job. She'd taken a life that had nothing and no one in it anymore and she'd made something of herself. Without any pity-charity from Pete.

Torchwood--she nearly laughed at having thought him from Torchwood--was behind her, out of her life. Their tests... she shuddered. It'd been two years and the memories were still bad enough to make her nauseous.

Then her mum and the baby were suddenly gone, torn from her. Pete had given up, just stopped trying altogether. And so had she. Leaving his mansion and quitting Torchwood were the two best decisions she'd made in this universe.

The shower curtain was suddenly flung to the side, slapping wetly against the wall by the tub, and the Doctor stood there watching her as her heart pounded harder from the shock.

She hadn't heard him come in. Hadn't heard the sonic screwdriver, which he must've used on the lock.

He was dressed exactly as before, when she'd thrown him out, and she realized he'd walked through the hotel like that. White dress shirt unbuttoned, hanging off of his shoulders, chest visible beneath. A chest she'd kissed and caressed with no idea of it being his.

Anger shot through her again.

His trousers were zipped, but not buttoned. He didn't have shoes or socks or tie on. No jacket. His hair was flattened in places and mussed in others.

He looked... sexy. Delicious. Adorable.

And then he was stepping into the shower with her.

"What're you doing?" she demanded, taking a step back, out of the spray. He was invading her space, coming where she'd thought herself safe from his prying eyes. Her head dropped down, and she hoped he couldn't see the tears, hoped her eyes weren't red-rimmed.

That's all this night needed, she thought, the Doctor seeing her crying. Him realizing he'd brought her to tears.

But he didn't answer, just pulled the curtain closed and wrapped her in his arms. "I'm sorry," he told her, clearly and succinctly. The sorrow in his voice made her eyes fill to overflowing, made her lip tremble. Made her arms wrap tightly around him, gripping handfuls of his wet shirt in her fists. She felt the scratchy fabric beneath her cheek as she rested her head against his shoulder, letting the tears fall.

"I buried you," she said harshly, pushing away from him. "I buried you, and I burnt you, and you're sitting at the bottom of a rooftop garden." Wiping uselessly at her eyes, she backed away from him, staring at the peach tiled wall before turning her back on him.

He was the one who'd fucked up here, not her. She wasn't going to just... fall into his arms and cry and everything would be all right.

"Just go," she told him, heart clenching.

"No, I can't leave you now."

She peered over her shoulder at him. "Not gonna off myself if that's what you think."

"Off your-- no! Of course I don't think you'd... the thought never crossed my mind." He backed away a bit, eyes fixed on a spot just over her shoulder, confusion lacing his expression.

Grabbing a random bottle from the shelf beside her, she scoffed at him. Dumping the contents into her upturned palm, she sniffed the liquid.

Smelt like vanilla, but she had no clue what it was.

Rubbing it into her hair rather than reading the bottle like a normal person would, she was rather happy when it lathered up nicely and she had the hope that it was indeed shampoo.

He was still standing behind her, her bare back was to him. He could see every bit of her he wanted to, but then again, he'd already seen it all. Already taken his fill. She was the one who'd been blindfolded.

A sigh left him, one of the heaviest she'd ever heard.

Hands rinsing her hair, she turned back to him, curious.

His eyes flitted to her for a moment before sliding away again. "I've lived nine lives before this one-- well, nine separate bodies can feel a bit like nine separate lives."

"Like a cat," she muttered, scrubbing fiercely at her scalp. Swiping at the soap running into her eyes, she ducked under the spray, rinsing her hair thoroughly.

She thought she felt him run his hand down the strands plastered against her back and shoulders, but when she jerked her head around to look, he was standing there casually, with his hands in his trouser pockets.

Looking completely normal and relaxed. While standing in a tub in a sopping suit in the middle of a shower.

Rolling her eyes, she turned away again and grabbed another random bottle. Looked like conditioner. Shaking her head, she absently rubbed the creamy, vanilla scented liquid into her hair.

"I had a wife, children," he continued, then stressed, "grandchildren."

Rose went still.

He'd mentioned having had kids before, or at least, being a dad, but never a wife or grandkids. Once again, as had only happened a few times before, she was forcefully struck by the fact that the Doctor was alien. Not just _an_ alien, but alien to her. Especially now, when she'd been apart from him for three years, and then suddenly one night he just showed up out of the blue and... shagged her.

Hard. And good. And thoroughly.

Then he began to randomly chat about his family, apropos of nothing.

"Susan," he mused, and Rose held her arms to her chest, hands catching the water as she turned to him. His eyes rose to her. "My granddaughter. She's gone, of course, with all the rest. All of my people." He sat on the edge of the tub, the shower curtain tautening under him until he freed it, shoving it out of the way, making it billow out behind him. Scratching his hand, he looked just a little bit lost, but then he seemed to snap out of it.

Rose merely stood under the spray of warm water, waiting, listening.

His eyes settled back on hers. "I've loved, of course, over the years." He chuckled lightly, eyes losing their focus. "Platonically. Barbara, Ian." His chuckle turned into a wide grin, and he suddenly sounded Scottish. "Young Jamie, and Zoe. So many. Aye, but I miss him."

Frowning, because she'd assumed Jamie was a girl, she looked at him more closely. Of course he'd traveled with men before. Jack wasn't his first. Hiding a small smile, she wondered if it really had always been platonic, even with Jack. She really didn't know. And she didn't think she wanted to know either, at least not about Jack.

She knew Jack, had traveled with him while with the Doctor, and jealousy wasn't one of her better traits. If the Doctor and Jack had had a relationship while she was with them... well, she just didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to know.

This other man though, Jamie, that was years before she'd met him. Probably. She was choosing to believe that.

"I've loved not-so platonically as well. There was Jo. Sarah Jane. Tegan. Charley." He sighed again and she stared down at him, through the water running over her face, at this man, this alien that she really didn't know at all.

"I," she began, but shook her head when he raised his eyes to her.

Shrugging, she rinsed the remaining conditioner out of her hair, then shut the water off and sat beside him. Reaching behind her, she grabbed a fluffy orange towel and wrapped it around herself. He did the same on his side, but instead of using it on his own drenched body, he patted down her hair, taking his time with it. Grabbing a section and wrapping it in the towel, then squeezing tightly.

"I've loved a lot, Rose, but I've never been as desperate as I am with you." He chuckled and brushed the strands behind her back. "I've a theory about that. I think it's this body. So young. Think I got all the hormones that come with it. And then some. Ohhhhh," he said excitedly, "d'you think I got a double dose? It was a bit easier for you to arouse me than it should've been," he mumbled.

Staring at the wall across from them, choosing to skip over the hormones and arousal bits, she took the towel from him and set it on her lap. "Doctor, that's a nice story and all, and a nice theory to go along with it, but I don't see how these guys--Charlie and Joe--and some women that you've loved are going to help the situation."

He chuckled. "Charley and Jo were women."

"Oh." She shrugged. "Still don't understand how it helps any."

"But don't you see?" he asked, cupping her wet face with his shower-warmed hands, smiling widely.

"Obviously not. Just said so, didn't I?"

Pressing a quick kiss to her lips, he dropped his hands, looking apologetic. "Sorry." But then he shook his head. "But no. That's what I'm talking about. All those years, all those feelings, but it's only with you that I can't stand to be away for more than five minutes."

Sighing, she dropped her eyes to the water drops on the bottom of the tub. "It's been three years, and you survived," she pointed out, ducking her head, pretending to dry her hair, letting a curtain of it slip between them. It _had_ been three years, at least for her, and she'd only just recently been able to say goodbye to him.

Had it been just as hard for him?

"It's... yes, but I lost you once, and I don't ever want to be like that again." When she opened her mouth to reply, he stressed, "I'm _afraid_ to be like that again. I hardly recognized myself sometimes."

Rose stared at him as she wrapped the towel around herself, tucking the end in. She wondered what he'd done, but was too afraid to ask. She didn't think she wanted to know what he'd done in her name, because, frankly, he sometimes terrified her as well. Instead, she whispered, "How long's it been?"

Staring at the shelves of bottles and the peach tile behind them, he widened his eyes a bit, trapped somewhere in the past. "I didn't even realize how bad I-- not until Donna had to stop me from... well, doesn't matter. She told me, after the Racnoss, that I needed someone to stop me, and she was right."

Sliding her hand out from under her towel, she threaded her fingers with his. His startled eyes shot to their clasped hands.

Mouth stretching into some sort of shape that was supposed to be a smile, he tightened his hand on hers. "I didn't listen to her. Not right away. Traveled on my own for quite a while longer." His eyes slid to hers, then away again. "People came and went."

Drawing in a deep breath at the pain on his face and the near crushing grip he had on her hand, she turned to him more fully, and repeated, "How long?"

Running his free hand through his dripping hair, messing it up even worse than it already was, making bits and pieces stick up every which way, he turned toward her as well. "Almost ten years."

Her eyes widened at that, filling with tears that she quickly blinked back, hiding them from him. Or, tried to, rather. He cupped her cheek again, this time with just his one hand, and smoothed his thumb down her wet skin. "And, here I was being all maudlin about three."

"Don't," he told her harshly. "You lost more than I did. This time," he corrected when she opened her mouth to argue that he'd lost his wife and kids, his granddaughter, all of his people. "I'm sorry about Jackie."

Feeling more tears burn her eyes, she blinked them back. "I miss her."

"'Course you do," he agreed fiercely, pulling her into his arms. Once again, she went willingly, knowing she always would.

A sob escaped her, though she tried to hold it back. It'd been two years. Exactly two years ago last Friday. She'd taken the time off, done her ritual for letting the Doctor go, but couldn't do the same for her mum. The Doctor was alive, which was proved by him being here with her right now, holding her while she cried, smoothing his hand down her back.

Saying goodbye to someone still alive, and _full_ of life, was loads easier than letting go of someone who wasn't still out there somewhere.

And the baby.

She hadn't expected the loss of her brother to hit her as hard as it had. Tony. Losing him was completely different. She'd never known him, never got to hold him, or hear his cries. Never saw his face. Never had all the chances she'd wanted. To teach him to tie his shoes.

Or the best way to tell their mum to shut it.

Never got to hold his hand and tell him about the universe.

"It's only been two years," she sniffled, pulling away a little to rub her eyes, hoping she'd managed to wash off all of her makeup. "I wish it'd been ten. Although, to you, that must be like, what? A week to a human? A day?"

Eyes on her face, he shook his head and lifted the edge of the towel to wipe gently under her eyes. "No. The exact opposite with you. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I missed three years of your life, and every second without you felt like an eternity."

Taking the towel from him when she spotted black and green on the edge of it, she wiped hard at the makeup smears on her eyes. "That's sweet," she told him, feeling unworthy of the importance he was placing on her. "And romantic." She pursed her lips up, a smile fighting for purchase. "Or cheesy. I'm not quite sure yet. But I'm just me. Just Rose Tyler. Nothing special. All those other people you loved. All those other-- Sarah Jane. I met her. _She's_ special."

"She is," he agreed, "but I got scared and ran from her. From my feelings." Scratching under his collar, he tossed her a grin. "And, it's incredibly cheesy." The grin slid away, replaced by a solemnity she recognized in him from so many trips, so many planets, so many people who needed his help. "But no less true for it."

"Doctor--"

"Rose, it's... it's true, and I'm not running. Not anymore." He settled his hands in his lap, looking so much like that lost little boy again that she wanted to hold him to her, reassure him.

But he straightened, watching her earnestly.

"I'm in it for the long haul." When she didn't answer, just looked back at him, he fidgeted, eyes growing wide. "If-- if you want it. Me. If you want _me_... like _this_." He gestured around the room, between them, eyes landing on her cleavage, pushed up above the towel. "Uh..." he licked his lips, shifting on the edge of the tub.

Rose's eyes darted down to his lap. To say that she was startled would be an understatement, but she was. They'd just had fantastic sex, showered together--essentially--all of her body had been on display for him this entire time, but a glance at her cleavage got him hard?

Definitely alien.

When she lifted her eyes back to his face, she found him watching her, and knew he knew that she was aware of his arousal.

"I had no idea, at the time... or while we-- in the bedroom earlier, why I did this. Why I..." he sighed, looking over her shoulder. "I mean I wanted you, yeah, of course I did. Do. But was that really an excuse to trick you? No. And I'm sorry I did, but I realized on the way to the TARDIS that I set all of this up because I was terrified that you'd say no."

He came to a halt suddenly, abruptly, and she waited for more, but he remained silent.

"That I'd say no to sex with you?" she snorted, half in laughter, half at his stupidity. "I love you. Remember? Last words I ever said to you." Standing up, she stepped out of the tub, annoyance and anger brimming in her again. "And all I got back was my name."

Stopping in front of the mirror, still partially fogged over, she swiped at it with a hand towel and then braced her hands on the counter, staring at her reflection. Most of her makeup was off, though there were still a few smears of eyeshadow and a hint of mascara under her right eye.

The Doctor appeared behind her, hands in his pockets, rumpled and completely fucking sexy. "Not to sex. To me. To traveling with me again. I thought," he paused and breathed in deeply. "I thought you might blame me for Jackie. And the baby."

"Stop it," she bit out, eyes dropping from his in the mirror.

"And Pete--"

"Stop it."

"Even Mickey--"

She spun around and grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt, noticing that he didn't even blink, didn't look startled at all, which startled her a bit. He was expecting her anger. And her blame? Welcoming it?

"I don't blame you," she told him honestly. "Not anymore."

"Sure about that?" His voice was low, almost taunting, but she didn't take the bait, didn't need to. She really didn't blame him.

"Yes." Releasing his shirt, she backed up a step, bracing herself on the counter behind her. "Did at first, of course. Blamed everyone and every... thing I could think of." Turning back around, she found his eyes in the mirror again. "You were just one more person on a very long list."

"But it _is_ my fault."

Anger swept through her. "Shut it. I've moved past that, and I'd rather not dredge all of it up again if you don't mind." He looked like he wanted to argue with her, but didn't. "Besides," she added, turning on the faucet to dampen the hand towel. "I think you being a manipulative prat is a better subject to discuss."

Wiping at her face, she watched the guilt spread across his. His shoulders drooped a bit, eyes settling on the floor. "It was a bit manipulative. I'm sorry."

Shaking her head, she dropped the cloth to the sink. "You don't get it, do you?" His eyes shot to hers and she turned around to face him. "You've been doing it since we met."

"Have not," he disagreed hotly.

Resting her weight on one hip, she stared at him incredulously. "'Sure, Rose, we can stay and have supper with your mum, but, oh, there's this plasma storm brewing in the Horsehead Nebula--'"

A grin split his lips. "That was a gorgeous storm!"

"That was a manipulative ploy. Hello, time machine! We could've gone anytime. Could do now."

"I didn't want--"

"I know; you didn't do domestics. You didn't want supper with my mum and that was fine, but you manipulated me into choosing between you and her."

He moved toward her, grabbing her arms, holding her still when she tried to pull away. "No, Rose. I didn't want to _share_ you. I wanted you all to myself. No mum, no supper. No... boyfriend! Even later, with Jack. You saw the jealousy. I could hardly stand to have him on board sometimes." Chuckling darkly, he shook her a bit. "You have no idea how many times I almost kicked him off the TARDIS."

She stared at him, feeling like she didn't really know him at all.

"You were mine," he snarled, sounding like a blasted caveman. "I don't. Like. To share."

"Well then," she bit out, nausea rising in her. "I must just make you sick then."

His face went blank, eyes as well, and she was left trying to read him, but couldn't. Turning away with a scoff, disappointed that he wasn't rushing to reassure her, she realized he was more human in some ways than he let on. All those times he'd chastised her for thinking like a human... a twenty-first century one, no less, and it turned out he was no better.

He was just like Mickey, he didn't understand.

"Yeah," she muttered bitterly, but caught her breath when he grabbed her arm to keep her from walking away.

"I'm not disgusted," he told her, but she knew better and kept her eyes on the wall across from her rather than look at him. His hand--roughly wrapped around her arm--loosened and rubbed lightly at her sore skin. "I'm angry. Furious!" Her eyes darted to his quickly, then away again. "That you were forced into this life," he explained.

She chuckled humorlessly, shaking her head at his assumption.

"I wasn't forced into anything, Doctor." Leaning close, she raised her brows at him. "I jumped into it with both feet and my eyes wide open." Watching him struggle with that news, she frowned, surprised to see that it bothered him. "You really are more human-thinking than you think," she said with a tsk.

"No," he denied, lifting his hand to brush lightly against her cheek. "I'm not shocked by what you do, I'm shocked at your attitude toward it. Sex for money is quite acceptable on many planets, during many times. It doesn't shock me. It's a noble profession. Well, it will be, for humans in a few centuries. I'm just..." he smiled suddenly, taking her by surprise.

Confusion settled in her as she watched him beam at her. She hadn't expected that. At all.

"I'm proud of you."

Okay, even more she hadn't expected. "What?"

"You've handled it all so well when it could've been a horrible life for you. And you just... made the best of it. That's so you." His grin widened and a small chuckle left him, eyes beaming at her, leaving her feeling warm, but confused. "Making the best of something that could've been demeaning and degrading--"

"No, that was Torchwood," she said absently, and he lost his smile, making her feel horrible for being the cause.

"Pete told me about... well, no. He just said something about you having concerns about them?"

Snorting bitterly, she crossed her arms over her chest. "You could say that." But she didn't want to talk about Torchwood now. Didn't want to think about anything except the man in front of her, and possibly, the life he was bringing with him. The one that was stretching out before her.

Them.

A small smile quirked up her lips. "You're proud of me for being a call girl?"

His own lips turned up in response, and she felt that warmth return. "I'm proud of the way you've handled it. This life, yourself, the situation. All of it." The smile faded, taking her own with it. "But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous." Eyes centering on hers, he stressed, "Extremely jealous."

He moved closer, lifting his hand to the back of her neck. She drew in a breath. Just that small touch and she wanted to melt into him. Her body shifted a little closer, eyes dropping to his mouth. His lips.

"And turned on," he said gutturally, mouth pressing to hers, taking her by surprise with the hard, desperate kiss. Not giving her time to do more than gasp in surprise and only just begin to respond before his body was hard against hers, the cool, scratchy feel of his damp suit pressed tight against her bare arms and legs.

She moaned at the feel of his cock, hardening as it pushed into her stomach.

And then he was gone.

No, not completely gone, she realized, just his mouth. The rest of him was still solidly against her. "This okay?" he panted, breathing loudly, harshly, and from so little. God, that turned her on.

Instead of answering with words, she threaded her hands through his damp hair and pulled his mouth back to hers. "You made me come twice," she told him between desperate kisses. "And that was just from me imagining you were... you." Fists grabbing handfuls of his shirt, she pushed him back. "Let's see what the real you can do."

His hands fumbled with the towel, pulling hard on it, loosening the tucked in edge, then yanking it from her as they resumed their frantic kissing. Cool air and wet Doctor hit her skin, and though she was enjoying it immensely, her rational side took over, forcing her to pull away from him, to stop kissing him, though she wanted to drown in his kisses and shag his brains out.

Startled at the abrupt halt, he opened his eyes, questioning her silently.

Opening her mouth to respond, she realized she didn't have an answer for him. Her body was aching, throbbing for him while her mind was telling her to be cautious, to go slower. To stop this before they both ended up regretting it. "I'm sorry," was all she could say.

She licked her lips and stepped back, groaning when his eyes darted to her mouth. Bending to pick up her towel, she forced herself to be strong and not just give in because the Doctor was, well, the Doctor.

And very aroused.

Wrapping the towel around herself, she took another step away from him, smacking her lower back against the edge of the counter. "I just... I need some time, yeah?" Ignoring the pain shooting through her heart at the way the Doctor's face went blank again, she focused instead on the sharp pain in her back. "I can't just-- I mean we already had sex, but... this is different. I can't just forget everything if y-- you _do_ want me to go with you, don't you?"

"How can you even doubt it?" he rushed to assure her, taking her face in his hands, and then seeming to realize what he was doing. "Sorry." He dropped his hands to his sides. "We can even stay in this universe for a bit if you want." He drew back, looking around as if he expected to suddenly see all the differences from their universe. Hands shoved into his pockets, he grinned manically. "I'd really like to pop around to some of my favorite planets, see what's different."

She couldn't help but grin back at the excitement on his face and in his voice. "There are quite a few differences here on Earth. Aside from the obvious of course." Her own smile grew at the infectiousness of his. "We could, I don't know... pop by somewhere now. For one quick trip. Be back before anyone misses me?"

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he nodded, smile turning hopeful. "We could."

* * *

*~*~*~*~*

* * *

Once inside the TARDIS, with it humming and vibrating throughout her body, Rose familiarized herself with the ship again, feeling like she was home for the first time in years.

Standing in her old room, she ran her eyes over everything. All of it was there still. Her makeup, her clothes, her bed--still messy from the last time she'd got out of it--her pictures, the different things she'd collected from all over the universe. It was all so new to her again, and yet so very familiar.

There, in her top drawer, were her knickers and bras. Below that were t-shirts and jeans. She drew a blank on what was in the drawer below that. Back in her flat it was socks and track pants; comfortable clothes.

Running her hand along the wall beside the bed, she bit her lip, feeling the TARDIS hum in response. There was a noise from the hall, and she tossed a glance over her shoulder.

"Room service," the Doctor said cheerily, bustling into the room, looking more like himself again. Shirt, done all the way up. Tie knotted perfectly. Trousers fastened. Even shoes. Heading to her bed with a tray of food in his hands, he darted his eyes to her, awkward smile on his lips.

She'd been afraid this would happen.

Nervousness settled in her stomach as he set the tray down and straightened back up, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Nothing special, I'm afraid, just beans on toast."

Breathing out, she pleaded, "Say that again." It'd been years since someone other than her had called it that and knew... knew what it was and that it was supposed to be like that. Mickey... her mum, they were both gone now, but even before that, they'd conformed, called it beans on bread just like everyone else.

The Doctor opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again and repeated his words. "Just... beans on toast?"

Blinking rapidly, feeling a sense of contentment go through her, she chuckled, giving him a watery smile. "Can you believe they think I'm the weird one here when I call it that?" Toeing off her trainers, she climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged before the tray. "I mean, beans on bread? It's a bit disgusting really."

"Ah." Rocking back and forth a bit, he nodded and pulled at his ear, looking like he wanted to flee from her room, from her, and she hated it.

This was the Doctor. He was... her best mate, her lover now, the man she was in love with. They shouldn't be uncomfortable with each other.

Glancing around, much the same as she had, he sighed softly. "Kept it all the same. Just... moved it around a bit, out of the way, so no one would come in accidentally, or while wandering." Turning back to her, he smirked. "Bit nosey, humans."

Lifting the cover off the tray, she looked over at him. Just beans on toast? There was bacon and tea and rolls and eggs... bananas? Snickering, seeing his sidelong glances at her, she set the tray cover down. "Sit with me?"

As if he could resist, she thought. Always had to have a bit of this and a little of that when they ate. Or when she ate. He'd stolen off her plate all the time back when she was traveling with him, and bananas with beans on toast was one of his odd combinations of foods. Not hers.

"And, you know," she said, munching thoughtfully on a slice of bacon, "if you _told_ us nosey humans that you have giant man-eating plants just... lying around, we might be less inclined to wander about."

Scoffing loudly, he eyed her. "You? Not wander off? I think it's safe to say that's one of the few things I can still label impossible."

"And you love it." She smirked at him, watching as he untied and pulled off his Chucks. Her smirk faded when he lifted his gaze to her, crawling his way to the middle of her bed, eyes hungry and nowhere near the food.

"I do," he agreed, sitting across from her with the tray between them.

She swallowed thickly, seeing a bit of what she'd missed with the blindfold on.

Setting the bacon back on her plate, she wiped her hands on a napkin and sat silently as he leaned forward to press a kiss to her lips, then settled back, licking his own. Small smile on his lips, he grabbed a roll and tore a chunk off, popping it into his mouth.

There was an urge growing inside her. To toss the tray aside, climb onto his lap and kiss him for hours and hours.

And yet another urge to fuck him hard and often, in so many different ways. To see his face when he came, to hear his voice--his own voice--as he encouraged her to come, as he grunted above her, as he told her all the dirty little things he was going to do to her. To just throw the tray from the bed, tear his trousers open, and suck him off until he was incoherent with need.

Grabbing her teacup with shaking hands, she dropped her eyes to his lap.

There wasn't enough light for her to see if he was aroused with all the brown material encasing him, and that frustrated her. She was wet and throbbing already, stomach fluttering, and more aroused than she'd been in years, aside from earlier. Shifting on the bed, she nearly burnt her mouth on the hot tea. "Ow," she mumbled, holding a finger to her singed lip.

"I _want_ you," he told her casually, and though his voice was bordering on assuring, he sounded as if he were telling her the sky was blue. His eyes never left his own cup of tea as he lifted it to his lips and sipped.

She shrugged and opened her mouth, trying to dismiss his words, but all that came out was, "Okay." Wanting to smack herself for the simple remark, she set her cup down.

"I'm actually thinking of throwing the tray to the floor, slipping your jeans off and tasting you again, because you taste better than any food I've ever had, and I don't think I'll ever not want to do that. That okay?" He raised his eyes to hers, setting his cup down on the tray, across from hers.

"I-- yes," she gasped, wanting him to do that, wanting to do it to him. God. This... would they ever get any actual traveling done anymore? He grabbed the edge of the tray and she slapped her hand over his. "Hang on!"

Blinking a few times, he frowned.

Taking a deep breath, she settled her hands back in her lap. "I'm coming with you--"

He smirked and then grinned. "I hope so."

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. "No, I mean-- well, yeah, that too eventually, but. I'm _traveling_ with you, and going back to our universe with you, told you forever and I still mean it, but what you did tonight was not okay."

His smile slipped away.

"You manipulated me again."

Eyes widening, he stressed his words carefully, earnestly. "I don't manip--"

"But you do. All the time." Exasperation filled her at his inability to see what he did to her, to others, every day. "Your word may be law, Doctor, but I won't stay with you if you keep doing it."

There was a bit of panic on his face, and she knew exactly how he felt, because she'd just got him back, and the thought of leaving him again because he couldn't control his manipulative side actually hurt her heart. Her chest felt tight, heavy, her stomach, tied in knots. But she would do it. Staying with him like that wasn't an option.

Sighing, he shoved his hands through his hair, making a sexy mess of it. "All right, maybe I manipulated you that one time, with the plasma storm, but--"

"You tricked me into thinking you had a plan on Satellite 5 and sent me home, giving me no choice in the matter." Hands curling into fists, she lifted narrowed eyes to him. "That's manipulation."

Disbelief was on his face and in his voice. "I did it to save your life!" Eyes hardening, he stared back, unflinching. "And I'd do it again, every time. _Will_ do it again. I won't risk you."

"But it's not your decision to make," she said hotly, wondering why he had such a hard time understanding that. "It's mine. If I wanna die saving a bunch of bloody idiots, I'll do it. If I wanna run like a coward, it's my choice. If I give my life for yours, it's up to me. Not. You."

"I don't see it that way, Rose. I'll survive." Mouth tightening, jaw clenching, he told her, "I _always_ survive. But you won't. You're human; you don't regenerate. I _won't_ lose you again."

"If you don't stop making decisions for me, you will." No matter how much it hurt. No matter how much she wanted to stay with him forever. No matter how wounded he looked right now. Ducking her head from the pain on his face, she fiddled with the edge of the tray. "I love you, Doctor, but I already have a father, and I don't like him very much."

He closed his eyes, running his tongue behind his teeth, moving his jaw back and forth, and she was reminded that she'd hit him. That should've told him something, should've clued him in to how she felt. Opening his eyes, he focused, not on her, but on the wall to his left and nodded tightly. "Okay." Eyes back on hers, he sighed. "I'll try."

Relief swept through her. She didn't expect it to be easy, or for him to stop right away, but that he was willing to try, willing to do as she asked, was enough for now. "How's your jaw?"

"Ruggedly handsome," he answered immediately, grinning briefly before fingering it tenderly. "Just grazed me." Reaching across to take her hand, he lifted it up, examining her knuckles, which were a bit sore, but nothing she couldn't handle. "Is this a new thing?" His eyes found hers. "You always gonna hit me when we disagree?"

She grinned back, feeling lighter than she had all night, all her nervousness and anger receding, but there was still a note of warning in her voice. "Manipulate me again and see." Rubbing her thumb along the side of his little finger, she popped a piece of bacon into her mouth. "Just out of curiosity; what'd you come to me like this for? Why not just land in my flat, or on the street?"

His face went blank and she swallowed thickly, wishing she hadn't asked. "Does it matter?"

"From your response, I'd say yes."

He rubbed his forehead. "To see if you were happy with your life. Without you knowing who I was." Sighing, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles, he released her hand and sat back. "And, no, I wouldn't have left without telling you who I was, even if you were blissfully married with loads of kids chirping at your heels."

Lips quirking up, she bit her thumbnail. "Lovely picture you've painted. That how you imagined me here?"

Shrugging, lips lifting in return, he studied her. "Might've. With some nameless bloke who always looked remarkably like me."

Stomach flipping again, she considered shoving the tray aside and snogging him to within an inch of his life, then again to resuscitate him. "You're a romantic, you are."

"'Course I am. Played matchmaker with your mum, and she's not the first either. Is it so bad that I want my two in the morning as well?"

She tilted her head to the side, face scrunched up in confusion. "Your what?"

Small smile on his lips, he shook his head. "Nothing. Doesn't matter." Brushing his hands off, he placed them on his knees and looked ready to get up. "Ready to go then? One trip, anywhere, then back here for your things."

"And to say goodbye to Mickey."

His brows rose in surprise. "Thought he was out of your life."

"No. He's just away, living his own." Trying to forget that he knew what she did for a living. Had done, she supposed. She was no longer a call girl, no longer selling her body for money. Mickey'd never been comfortable with knowing, and on one rather memorable occasion, he'd told her quite frankly how he felt about it.

Six months went by before she'd put aside her anger and called him.

"Got his number here in my phone--" he pulled a mobile from his pocket and a small rectangle of paper fluttered to the bed. "Ah," he crowed, grinning, holding the card out to her across the tray. "Your friend--who is quite cheeky--the one who left the hotel room as I arrived? She has informed me that you and her are both quite willing to share if I'm interested."

Scrunching her face up, she adjusted her ponytail. "Oi, told her not to..." sighing, she made a quick grab for the card, but it slipped to the tray between their cups. "She's new-- well, not really, she just hasn't got a good grasp on how to act with clients sometimes." Reaching down to grab the card, she knocked her cup over and quickly righted it before too much spilt, but the card was already soaked.

Picking it up, she stared at it. Oh.

"I should tell her I'm a one-woman man. And you're a-- a-- something wrong?"

She glanced up from the card, blinking at him. "I think we need to take a trip."

Curious eyes lighted on the card, now stained with tea. It was familiar to her, but meant nothing to him. "Anywhere in particular?"

Smiling widely, she set the card on her nightstand and licked her lips. "It can wait. We have all the time in the universe. Two of 'em even."

"Very true," he agreed, eyeing the tray between them with an intensity on his face that she hadn't seen before. "Finished?"

Nodding, smile growing, she felt anticipation settle in her and fisted her fingers to keep from reaching out and hauling him to her. But she needn't have worried. He shoved the tray, sending it flying off the bed with a clatter, food and tea spilling every which way, but neither of them paid it any mind.

He dove at her at the same time as she jumped for him, and they met in the middle, lips pressing together in a fierce kiss that took her breath away and left her with pleasant tumbles in her stomach. She fell backward, the Doctor landing on her as they tore at each other's clothes, hands everywhere. His palm slid down to cup her breast, his other hand holding her head still for his kiss.

Fingers fumbling at his button and zip, she heard him grunt in pleasure as she wrapped her hand around his hard cock.

"Don't wanna wait any longer," she breathed out, drawing back to pull her shirt free, then dropped her hands to her waistband, yanking her jeans open. His hand immediately slid down, under the band of her knickers, straight to her wet heat. "Been ready all night." Falling backward, with him landing over her, she closed her eyes, then popped them open again.

She didn't want to miss one single expression this time.


End file.
